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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


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GERARD 


THE mis OF THE OHUROH-BEEL 


A STORY. 




“/ purpose to build a house unto the name of the 
Lord my God," ; Kings v. 5, 


NASHVILLE, TENN. : 

Southern Methodist Publishing House. 

fRIJ^TED FOR THE AUTHOR. 

\m-. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, 
By Hiss Lucinda B. Helm, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


TO THE MEMORY 


My Beloved Brother, 

THOMAS P. HELM, 

/ Dedicate this Little Book, 

In Grateful Remembrance of the Assistance and 
Encouragement He so Kindly Gave 
Me in Its Preparation. 



(ZonbenliS. 


Chapter I. page 

Tlie Little Boy in Church 9 

Chapter II. 

“ Go W est, Young Man.” 17 

Chapter III. 

Sunday in a Border Town 32 

Chapter IV. 

How Sunday Became Less Tiresome 43 

Chapter V. 

A Mountain Tragedy 57 

Chapter VI. 

A Wanderer from God and Man G8 

Chapter VII. 

The Companion of Outlaws 80 

Chapter VIII. 

A Mother’s Prayer Answered 94 

Chapter IX. 

The Xew Church 108 


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-^EERARD: A STORY.-<- 


GhapfeF I. 

THE LITTLE BOY IN CHURCH. 

g ERAED’S mother always took him to 
church. She began when he was very 
small. Gerard never objected to going; he 
took it as a matter of course. When friends 
asked his mother why she took him to 
church, she did not enter into a discussion 
as to whether or not little children, ought to 
be taken to church before they can under- 
stand sermons addressed to adults, for good 
people differ on that point; she simply said 
that she was afraid to leave him at home. 
Whether she had some idea, not reasoned 
out, that habit was very strong — that it 
was a firm mold in which the impressible 
mind of infancy would harden into like 
shape, and she was afraid not to try to 
mold her boy’s mind into the form she 
wanted it to take, instead of leaving it 
to adjust itself to uncontrolled events; or 
whether she simply meant Gerard was such 


10 


GERARD: A STORY. 


a bad little boy she was afraid, if she left 
him at home, he would get into mischief, I 
do not pretend to say. But Gerard did not 
look like a bad boy. He was a handsome 
boy, with bright, truth-telling, blue eyes, 
with a wide-awake expression that showed 
very plainly his mother was right when she 
said: “Gerard must be at something; if he 
did not have one thing to do he would do 
another.” And the majority of little boys 
are very like him, in my opinion. Howev- 
er it was, she always took Gerard to church. 
And this is the way he spent his time in 
church: As long as the singing lasted, no 
little mouse could be stiller than this little 
boy, who fastened his eyes on the choir and 
listened as if he were absorbing the music 
into his very soul — and it may be he did. 
But when the preacher commenced, then 
Gerard commenced. The preacher was not 
by any means tiresome. Older people liked 
him very much, and occasionally Gerard 
caught an idea from him. He spoke of 
Moses; the name was familiar to Gerard, 
and he listened to hear about the baby in the 
bulrushes; but the preacher spoke of the 
great lawgiver — then he thought he might 


THE LITTLE BOY IN CHURCH. 


11 


as well feel for his marbles. He felt in his 
right-hand pocket; he could not find his 
marbles. He could not find his nails, either. 
He felt in both pockets. He felt in great 
consternation, until he remembered he had 
on his Sunday trousers. Then he took his 
hands out of his pockets, and sat very qui- 
et a moment, thinking of something else 
to do, I suppose. He got upon his knees 
on the pew, and looked at the people be- 
hind him. He looked especially at a de- 
mure little girl, with pretty rosy cheeks, 
yellow crimped hair, a nice little poke bon- 
net tied under her chin, and two little, 
nicely behaved hands lying quietly folded 
in her lap. The “ demure little girl ” looked 
at the boy, then at her mother, then at 
the boy again, with an expression that said 
plainly, “That little boy is not behaving 
himself, but I am;” and she fixed her inno- 
cent eyes determinate^ on the preacher. 
But the little boy moved more directly in 
front of her, and stooping down so he could 
just see above the back of the pew, looked 
at her with a laugh in his eyes. She invol- 
untarily smiled, but instantly puckered her 
little lips down, put her head on one side. 


12 


gekard: a story. 


moved her little hands, and glanced up at 
her mother, as if she had been canght con- 
niving at the boy’s bad behavior. He had 
evidently broken np her attitude of propri- 
ety, and she could not assume it again. 
The nervous, thin, good little old lady in 
front, who always frowned and shook her 
head at boys when they moved behind her 
— and no boy could move ever so slightly, 
ever so softly, could even put his hands in 
his pockets and take them out again, with- 
out her black eyes caught him in the nefa- 
rious act — was watching Gerard; and his 
mother, fearing he might be disturbing her, 
pulled him down to her side, put her arm 
around him to hold him still, and wished 
he would sometimes go to sleep, as the 
“ demure little girl ” behind them was pre- 
paring to do, and always did. She might 
as well have left him at home, you think. 
"Well, she did not think so, and she was man- 
aging this little boy. Held still by his 
mother’s arm, Gerard could do nothing but 
count the spots on the wall-paper. This 
promised for awhile to serve as a quietus; 
but he soon became so intent on his count- 
ing that he wanted to point at each one. 


THE LITTLE BOY IN CHURCH. 


13 


The old lady in front looked around; and 
his mother put her hand on his and held it 
down. Good fortune it was to Gerard when 
a dog made its appearance in church. He 
made a calling motion with his fingers, 
in a quiet sort of way, for, with all his 
restlessness, Gerard had enough sense of 
church propriety not to make a noise. His 
mother caught his fingers and shook her 
head, but too late; the dog had seen the 
call, recognized an acquaintance, and come 
over. Now, the trouble was to keep the 
dog from getting up on the pew to the boy, 
or the boy from getting down on the floor 
to the dog. The mother of Gerard was a 
woman of marvelous patience, and also of 
wonderful perseverance. Some mothers I 
know would have bent over the child, and 
with a frown and a sly shake would have 
whispered, “ If you do n’t behave yourself, 
I ’ll whip you as soon as I get you home.” 
Then the boy would have frowned back at 
her, kicked the dog, and hated the church, 
the steeple, the preacher, and all the good 
people ” pretty cordially. Gerard’s moth- 
er did nothing of the kind. Her broad 
brow was calm, and her touch soft and gen- 


14 


geeard: a story. 


tie; but she succeeded in making the dog 
satisfied with lying at the boy’s feet and 
looking up at him, and the boy with look- 
ing down at the dog and quietly rubbing 
the tip of his toe over the dog’s back. 

The music begins again. The dog is for- 
gotten; bolt upright sits Gerard, listening 
with all his soul. “Nearer, my God, to 
thee, nearer to thee” — how he loves that 
hymn! His mother sings it to him very 
often, and he feels he would love to be 
very near to the good God his mother tells 
him so much about, the good God who loves 
him. He gets closer to his mother, lays 
his little hand in hers, and with a solemn, 
earnest face listens to the hymn he never 
forgets. 

By and by Gerard grew old enough to 
understand the preacher, especially when 
he touched on the Sunday-school lesson, 
or when he preached to the children, 
as he did sometimes — not one of those 
ridiculous efforts to make facetious re- 
marks, that the children may laugh, as if 
they needed only to be amused, but shor;, 
direct, earnest appeals to that deeper, ten- 
derer nature that exists even more in 


THE LITTLE BOY IN CHURCH. 


15 


the hearts of children than in older ones. 
After awhile he learned to find the text, 
to mark it, and read all about it when he 
went home. He always took his Bible for 
this purpose — it was something .to do. 
When he grew old enough he joined the 
choir, for he had a very fine voice. The 
“demure little girl” joined the choir too; 
not that she had a fine voice too, though 
she sung very sweetly, but she looked so 
pretty, was so sweet and good, everybody 
liked to have her about. And she liked to 
please people, if there was nothing wrong 
in it; so when the choir begged her to join 
them, she did so. Whether she had any 
thing to do with it, or it was early training, 
force of habit, Gerard, not of a disposition 
to dissect his own heart, never stopped to 
think — but he always loved to go to church ; 
and deep down in his heart, rooted in the 
earliest thoughts of his infancy, the love of 
God and unquestioning faith in His rev- 
elation had taken hold of every fiber of his 
nature. Other things may in after years 
be grafted in and grow, but the chances are 
the root will remain uninjured, and finally 
cast off the unholy grafting. For does not 


16 


geeakd: a stoky. 


the sacred record say, “Train up a child 
in the way he should go, and when he is 
old he will not depart from it ?” At the 
age of sixteen Gerard was converted, and 
joined the Church. He was a consistent 
member, for though full of life, and full of 
fun, he was by nature too earnest to be friv- 
olous. Accustomed to being at church, to 
going through the service, and too sincere 
to play the hypocrite, he naturally made 
every effort to conform his heart and life 
to the thoughts and feelings brought for- 
ward in church and by the Sabbath serv- 
ice. So it was, Gerard’s better thoughts 
and holiest feelings were associated with 
the Church of God; and he loved it as he 
loved his home. 


— •* — ^ 
v§) — » -(g? 




Ghapfeep 11. 

‘‘ GO WEST, YOUNG MAN.'' 

‘‘ITTHEKE is really nothing here for a 
1 man to do — nothing that I can find,” 
said Gerard, as he entered his mother’s cozy 
sitting-room and threw himself down in 
an impatient, annoyed manner, in a half- 
reclining position, on a sofa in front of his 
mother. A frown clouded the usually clear 
and buoyant expression of his face. His 
mother looked up from her sewing, but 
said nothing. Her look was full of sympa- 
thy for his annoyance, and there was lurk- 
ing back in her eyes a depth of love only a 
mother can feel, and pride in this her first- 
born — so tall, so handsome he is, in the full 
strength of his young manhood. Yes, the 
bright, blue-eyed little boy had developed 
into a man that any mother might be proud 
to call her son — not because he was tall 
and strong and handsome, not that his 
brow was broad and his blue eyes bright, 
but because upon his brow there was the 
unmistakable stamp of intellect, and his 
eyes were still, as in boyhood, truth-telling 
2 (17) 


18 


geeahd: a story. 


eyes, bespeaking the frank, brave sincerity 
of purpose that his every act evinced; be- 
cause she kneio that her boy, though far 
from faultless, was true, was as kind and 
gentle as he was strong and brave. And 
she knew that he loved her, for he was not 
ashamed to show it — as, alas! too many 
sons are, not realizing that the mother’s 
heart, as much as any lady-love’s, longs to 
see and to feel the love that is hers. The 
older she grows, the less attractive to oth- 
ers, the more her heart yearns for the love 
of her “boys.” How proud and glad an 
old mother looks when she clings with the 
weakness of age and womanly dependence 
to the strong arm of her son! When a boy 
she led him, controlled him, loved him; 
now she looks up to, depends on, glories in 
the man she has given to the world, and re- 
joices in his love as the staff of her old age. 
Be tender to the old mother, young men 
and older ones — be tender, be loving, affec- 
tionate. Her face is wrinkled, her hands 
are shriveled, but that heart within, it is 
neither cld nor shriveled; it is strong, and 
full of love. It hungers for love as it did 
in the days gone by, for it is a woman’s 


GO WEST, YOUNG MAN. 


19 


heart. Sit down by li6)r, take that poor old 
hand in yours, talk to her, make her feel 
. she is still loved and valued. The dull old 
eyes will grow brighter, though it may be 
tears that make them so, tears that gush up 
with the unexpected gladness of the heart 
that she had been schooling to be still and 
expect naught. 

Gerard had just returned from college, 
where he had graduated with honor, and 
already, before the summer vacation was 
past, was wrestling with the question, 
“What shall I do?” The mother knew it 
would be thus, and had for the last two 
years looked about her, with many an anx- 
ious thought, to determine what her son 
should do when he should have finished his 
college course. He had never shown a 
proclmty to any thing special, only a wide- 
awake, active readiness for something; 
and something would be found, right or 
wrong, his mother knew. She knew also 
that whatever this something was, it would 
be pursued with determination; conse- 
quently it w^eighed upon her mind as a mat- 
ter of vital importance that this “some- 
thing to do” should be wisely chosen. She 


20 


GERARD: A STORY. 


was a widow, in sucli comfortable circum- 
stances, with only two children younger 
than Gerard, that he might have waited 
awhile for the way to open before him ; but 
this she dared not persuade him to do, for 
the restless boy had become the restless man, 
and she could still say of him, “If he does 
not have one thing to do, he will do anoth- 
er.” Moreover, she was fully aware what 
he asserted was true — there was literally 
nothing for him to do in their quiet village, 
where she had hoped, when the time came, 
he would find employment. 

The cloud on Gerard’s face partially 
clears away; he sits up, leans forward, and 
looks his mother full in the eyes, as if he 
would read her mind, independent of what 
• she should say, and says, with hesitation, 
fearing to give her pain, “ I have a notion 
to go West.” His mother’s eyes fell, her 
heart sunk — this is what she had dreaded. 
He saw she suffered, and his voice dropped 
lower as he added, “What do you say to it, 
mother? ” There was a world of tenderness 
in the way he spoke that word mother. 

“Well, my son, if you think it best,” 
quietly answered the brave, wise mother. 


GO WEST, YOUNG MAN. 


21 


There was an acknowledgment of his 
newly acquired manhood in the words, “ If 
you think it best,” that he appreciated, and 
made him ponder still more carefully as to 
whether or not he did think best. 

“ There is nothing for me to do here,” he 
said again, as if reasoning the matter over 
with himself. 

“What are your plans?” his mother 
asked. 

“Well, Mr. McLeod is going, you know, 
mother, and he says if I will go with him 
he will insure me a comfortable start and 
a grand prospect for the future. I have 
tried not to think of it, because I felt cer- 
tain you would object to my going.” 

“I do dread to part with you, my boy.” 
Her voice trembled. 

Tears came to Gerard’s eyes. 

“I won’t go if you do not w^ant me to, 
mother, but ” — he laughed a little tremulous 
laugh — “if I should go, I see nothing to 
hinder me from coming back; there is a 
railroad all the way.” 

“That is true;” and it dawmed on the 
mother’s mind that it need not be an ir- 
remediahle move. She had forgotten about 


22 


GERARD: A STORY. 


tlie changes made by railroads, those great 
binders together of humanity. She felt as 
if a burden had been lifted off her heart; 
it was not a life-and-death matter after all. 
She smiled, looked more cheerful ; and Ge- 
rard, who was watching her face, smiled too. 

Then he threw up his head, as if he 
thought, “It is all right now,” leaned 
back against the sofa, put his hands in 
his pockets, and with a thoroughly cheerful 
manner and voice began: “He says, moth- 
er, he has no doubt that in ten years I can 
make as big a fortune as I want; and he 
is not a visionary man, you know, mother.” 
She did know, and she knew him to be a 
trustworthy and upright as well as success- 
ful business man. “ But a thoroughly 'prac- 
tical Scotchman,” added Gerard, with em- 
phasis. “ He has been examining into this 
matter now for two or three years, and is 
perfectly satisfied there is no room for 
failure. He has the capital to start any 
thing he wants, and makes me a very good 
offer.” 

“ When does he want you to go? ” 

“Next week.” Again Gerard looked 
anxiously at his mother. 


GO WEST, YOUNG MAN. 


23 


She sighed, saying, “ That is very soon.” 

Gerard, determined to preserve the cheer- 
ful aspect of the case, said, with a forced 
laugh: “Yes, but if a fellow is going to do 
a thing, he might as well go ahead and do 
it.” Then he began a low, soft whistle, and 
looked around with an air of, “ It is all set- 
tled; I had better be thinking about what I 
am to take with me.” He looked at the 
chairs, the tables, the vases — surely he did 
not want to take these with him — but he 
watched his mother too. He was eager to 
make this venture, but he did not want to 
distress her; if he could only get her to 
take a cheerful view of the matter, what a 
relief it would be! Suddenly he broke off 
whistling: “I’ll tell you, mother; suppose 
you and the girls go too, just for the trip — 
everybody takes trips these days — and see 
me settled in my new home.” 

“ Take a trip where? ” broke in a girl of 
fourteen years of age, coming in from the 
adjoining room, where she had been deep- 
ly engrossed in a Sundaj^^school book, but 
not too deeply to catch the words “ girls” 
and “trip,” spoken in a rather higher key 
than the rest of the conversation. She was 


24 


GERARD : A STORY. 


fleshy, and quite large for her age, wfth an 
independent, I-am-as-big-as-anybody man- 
ner. She was very fond of Sunday-school 
books, and when required to go to church 
every Sunday, which she did not like to do, 
would persist in reading them instead of 
listening to the preacher; and she would 
sit with the “other girls” instead of her 
mother. 

But Annie, in her determination to be 
independent, did not know how much pain 
she caused her mother, or I cannot be- 
lieve she would have pursued this course; 
for she had a good heart, and loved her 
mother devotedly. 

“Take atrip where?” she repeated, com- 
ing forward, book in hand. 

“ West,” said her brother. 

“ Your brother is thinking of going West 
on business,” explained her mother, “and 
thinks it would be a pleasant trip for us if 
we would accompany him.” 

“You going West? ” She threw up her 
eyebrows, stood firmly on both feet, and 
looked at him. 

“I was thinking of it,” said Gerard, look- 
ing at her, with his head on one side, in a 


GO WEST, YOUNG MAN. 


25 


tone half patronizing, half defiant; “have 
you any thing to say against it?” 

“ You had better stay at home,” retorted 
the self-reliant fourteen-year-old would-be 
woman; and turning off abruptly, she went 
to the window, sat down on one chair with 
her feet on the rungs of another, and went 
at her book again. She did not read, how- 
ever. She looked out the window; she 
looked inquiringly at her mother, at her 
brother, who both sat absorbed in thought, 
anxious thought, she saw, and she became 
troubled. If there was any thing on earth 
she loved it t^as this brother; but she would 
not show it. She felt above the weakness 
of childhood, and had not reached the ten- 
derness of womanhood. 

“ Well, mother,” said Gerard, rising slow- 
ly, “I will see Mr. McLeod again, and we 
will talk it all over to-night.” 

He bent over and kissed her, and turned 
to go; then he looked at his sister as if he 
would like to treat her the same way, for 
Gerard was feeling he would leave them 
soon ; but she looked down at her book, and 
he went out. Tears came to her eyes. Sud- 
denly she looked up; so did her mother, for 


26 


GERARD: A STORY. 


a low, soft weeping was heard in the far 
corner of the room, behind the other sofa, 
where “little Mary” had her doll-house. 
She had been there all the time, and had 
heard all that had been said; so the mother 
understood instantly. 

“Come here, darling;” and a little girl of 
seven crept out with her doll in hand. She 
was a beautiful child, with low, broad brow, 
and soft, wavy yellow-brown hair parted 
and brushed back naturally off it, and the 
gentlest, sweetest browm eyes. The young- 
est, of a lovely, affectionate disposition, she 
is the darling of the family. As she sinks 
down in her mother’s arms, and is clasped 
to her breast, sobbing, “ I do n’t want broth- 
er to go! ” Annie’s lips tremble; she jerks 
herself up. 

“I wish Mr. McLeod would just let 
brother alone! ” and she flounces out of the 
room, goes upstairs as if she was angry at 
each step, slams her room door, throws her- 
self on the bed, and sobs violently for half 
an hour; then exhausted, she falls asleep. 
'When she awakes it is dusk. She lies still 
and thinks of all the terrible things that 
might, could, and would happen to any 


GO WEST, YOUNG MAN. 


27 


one “going West.” Her brother gets into 
trouble. Her mother is miserable. She 
comes forward as the main stay of the fam- 
ily; goes West, rescues her brother from 
danger — the nature of the danger and the 
method of rescuing it was unnecessary to 
decide — she brings him home safe, and 
makes her mother and little Mary happy. 
When the tea-bell rings, the brave child 
goes down subdued in manner, but with 
the air of a resolute heroine. Ah, yes ! we 
may laugh at her, but she has growing up 
in her young heart immense capabilities 
for doing the brave deeds she is ever plan- 
ning, but proudly keeping her thoughts to 
herself. She is but the elements of a good, 
brave, long-suffering, all-enduring, noble 
woman, in their crude, chaotic state; and it 
is to be hoped no injudicious, undiscerning 
hand will hinder their perfect crystalliza- 
tion into those natural and beautiful forms 
designed by the Creator. Her mother un- 
derstands her, for, strange as it may seem, 
she passed through the same stage. She 
told her one day she reminded her of her- 
self at her age. 

“ Like you, mother! ” exclaimed the child. 


28 


GEEARD : A STORY. 


surprised and delighted; for though she oft- 
en fancied herself the grandest of heroines, 
Annie sometimes considered herself almost 
equal to the heavy villain of the play, ca- 
pable of the most tragic crimes. After 
that she became more hopeful in regard to 
herself; there was a bond of sympathy be- 
tween her and her mother, and an ideal 
formed upon that mother took possession 
of her breast. An ideal in the mind will 
work to the surface some day. If that 
ideal be as perfect as the man Christ Jesus, 
the development will be through suffer- 
ing unto holiness. 

As Annie entered the supper-room she 
found little Mary in a full laugh. She had 
been consoled by the joint efforts of moth- 
er and brother, by their caresses, and by 
amusing accounts of what was to be seen 
“out West.” And Mr. McLeod’s appear- 
ance on the scene did away with the senti- 
mental view of the case, and put upon it 
such a matter-of-fact face that it seemed 
but a business trip to a place only a few 
hours off. It seemed so; yes, and the good 
mother seemed cheerful, and fell quite nat- 
urally into the arrangements; but O how 


GO WEST, YOUNG MAN. 


29 


her heart ached! She knew she was giving 
np her boy — boy no longer; her home would 
be his ho more, for well she knew going 
meant staying. Her mind submitted to the 
reasoning that it was best; and her heart, 
her unselfish woman’s heart, hid itself 
away out of sight, but it moaned and sighed 
unheard. 

Annie had some difficulty in adapting 
herself to the new phase of affairs. It was 
hard to give up her indignation at Mr. 
McLeod, and her heroic resolves. But she 
was a girl of good sense, and good heart; 
her brother was so merry, and Mr. McLeod, 
looking as fresh and bright as sunrise on 
a clear day, beamed so kindly on her — she 
was a favorite of his — that altogether she 
soon fell into the popular view of the mat- 
ter. She understood that Mr. McLeod, in- 
stead of alluring her brother away from 
home, to be devoured by unknown, name- 
less dangers, waiting with wide-open 
mouths to swallow him up in case his he- 
roic sister did not interfere, was acting the 
part of a friend to the young man whose 
worth he so well knew; that her brother 
was merely going to another town, pretty 


30 


geraed: a story. 


much like the one they lived in, only more 
wide-awake, to go into business, and per- 
haps grow rich. She rushed to the other 
extreme, and for the time forgot the pain 
of the separation — what home would be 
without this light-hearted, loving brother. 

Before the time came for him to go, the 
mother and son had many an evening talk, 
she giving wuse and sympathetic counsel, 
he unconsciously stowing away last fond 
memories as future guards against tempta- 
tion to evil. I say unconsciously, because 
Gerard was not given to much self -inspec- 
tion; he was intensely objective in his nat- 
ure, quick to see, impulsive in action. His 
impulses were good by inheritance and ear- 
ly training. God to him was not an effort 
of reason, but a living, ever-present Person, 
an overruling Being, who governed him 
and all things around him in wisdom and 
love; and he honestly loved God, and de- 
sired to please him, even as he desired to 
please his mother. His love for her was 
the ruling passion of his life. The ruling 
power of his mind was a determination to 
achieve; he could no more be passive than 
water can stand still on an inclined plane; 


GO WEST, YOUNG MAN. 


31 


for good or evil, lie must be active. As yet 
there had been no cause, under the wise 
guidance of his mother, to divert this activ- 
ity into evil courses. But how far this im- 
piilsive nature would resist the unobserved, 
insinuating approaches of evil — the adroit 
mixture of good and evil that the world 
presents to the unwary, to lead the undis- 
criminating into tangled meshes of a web 
hard to break through when the soul, 
alarmed at some apparent evil, turns to 
look upon her garments, and finds them 
not “unspotted from the world” — was a 
question that weighed upon the anxious 
mother’s heart. She knew he w^ould not 
always find the lines between right and 
wrong so strongly marked as he now felt 
them to be. She laid his hymn-book and 
his Bible, Avith many a passage marked, in 
his trunk; and on her knees, with bowed 
head and tearful eyes, she intrusted him to 
the love of his Heavenly Father, to the care 
of the blessed Saviour, who loved him far 
better than she. “ Into thine hand I com- 
mit my spirit; thou hast redeemed me, O 
Lord God of truth.” 


G^aptsep ni. 

SUNDAY IN A BOEDER TOWN. 

" Gather not ray soul with sinners, nor ray life with 
bloody raen ” Psalm xxvi. 9. 

D EAE MOTHEE : I intended to have 
written to you more fully before this, 
but Mr. McLeod has kept every moment of 
ray time engaged, except the few moments 
I snatched before retiring, dreadfully tired, 
to write you those few lines. As I told you, 
I like the place in many respects. Though 
now a small town, it has undoubted pros- 
pects of being, some day in the near future, 
a thriving city. There are some very pleas- 
ant people here, but quite an element of 
roughs. By that I do not mean abandoned, 
wicked men ; on the contrary, many of them 
are as good-hearted, clever men as you will 
find anywhere, but men, such as one always 
meets in new settlements, who, feeling they 
have left well-dressed civilization behind 
them, by general consent have become 
careless, reckless in dress, in manner, lan- 
guage, and habits of life. If there were 
more ladies here, it might be different. But 
(32) 


SUKDAY IN A BORDER TOWN. 


33 


the article most needed here, T think, is a 
church. Do you know, mother, there is 
not one in the place — not one of any de- 
nomination, not even a school-house or 
any place to hold service in. A Methodist 
preacher has been here occasionally and 
preached in the streets, they say, but other- 
wise than that there has been here no 
preaching even. I did not know what to do 
with myself this morning. When I asked 
where service would be held and was told 
“nowhere,” a laugh was raised at my 
“righteous horror,” as they called it; 
though several of the men afterward con- 
fessed to me they often felt the lack of it 
themselves, and did not like to write for 
their wives and children until there was a 
church built, and the place had a more 
home-like look. “Women-folks could n’t get 
along without a church,” they said; and it 
did make a town “ seem sorter wild and un- 
civilized like not to have a ‘ meetin’-house.’ ” 
“ Why, a smaller town they knew of had 
already two churches, and they had heard 
of people going there instead of coming 
here on that account.” I asked if no effort 
had evey been inac^e to, have ^ chiircji 
3 


34 


GERARD : A STORY. 


built. “Well, yes; they had heard that 
Mrs. Johnson had been trying, but nothing 
had been done yet.” They then gave me 
quite a touching little history of this Mrs. 
Johnson. One of them had known her be- 
fore she came out here. She was as good 
a woman as ever lived; was a member of 
the M. E. Church, South. He was a Pres- 
byterian himself, but was willing to help 
Mrs. Johnson, or anybody, to get any sort 
of a church built. Her husband also was 
a consistent member of the Church when 
they came here, but had fallen into bad 
habits. She had made every effort to win 
him back from them, but in vain. Ho, 
formerly so kind and considerate of his 
wdfe, had become cross and neglectful of 
her. She was a lady of great refinement, 
and found but little congenial society in the 
place. She visited the suffering and the 
sick, and the roughest man in the commu- 
nity treated her with respect. It was on 
her invitation, as her guest, that the min- 
ister had come who had preached in the 
street. 

“There he is now, there is Bill John- 
son;” he lowered his voice and gave me a 


SUNDAY IN A BORDER TOWN. 


35 


nudge with his elbow. I looked around 
and saw sauntering in a surly, red-eyed 
man. He might have been handsome in 
other days, and genial, as they say he was, 
before he took to such hard drink; but it is 
difficult to believe now. He went straight 
to the bar for a drink. Yes, this conversa- 
tion took place in the har-room. Don’t be 
horrified, mother; for it is the parlor too, 
the only place in the house for the board- 
ers to meet, and you have to go through it 
to get to the rest of the house. It looked 
strange, as I walked out at church-time, to 
see no appearance of Sabbath anywhere, 
save that the respectable business houses 
were closed; and there were more loungers 
to be seen in front of the hotel and the sa- 
loons — there are two or three of those here, 
0,nd they appear quite popular, especially 
with the miners, who come into town on 
Sunday oftener than on other days. “ Sun- 
day clothes ” were nowhere apparent, and 
I soon saw mine were attracting attention; 
for, as I have intimated, delicacy of remark 
is not to be expected — though it was evi- 
dently good-humored fun, and not ill-nat- 
ure or intentional rudf^n^ss, that prompted 


3G 


GERARD: A STORY. 


their speech. I took a general survey of 
the town for the first time. As I went by 
a neat little cottage, one of the few places 
with flowers in the yard, I was attracted by 
a low, sweet singing. I glanced up at the 
wdndow, and saw a pale, delicate lady who 
looked weary and lonely. Feeling home- 
sick and lonely myself, I was half inclined 
to open an acquaintance with her. Walk- 
ing on a little out of sight, I stood still and 
listened. She sung some of our favorite 
hymns. While I stood there, a man, pass- 
ing by, stopped and said pleasantly, “ You 
seem a stranger in these parts.” I told 
him I was, and that I had been disappoint- 
ed in not finding a church in the place. 
He smiled and asked, “ Do you know that 
lady singing? ” I told him I did not — that 
I had been attracted by her singing and 
stopped to listen. “You ought to know 
her; you are the kind she looks after,” he 
said, laughing. He was an intelligent man, 
with more cultivation than the majority I 
have met, and I liked his looks very much, 
but I could not imagine what he was laugh- 
ing at. I told him I had just been thinking 
I shpuld likp ip mahe her acquaintance. 


SUNDAY IN A BOEDER TOWN. 


37 


“ Well, come along then.” I folloived him. 
When we got in front of the window he 
called, “Mrs. Johnson.” She looked out. 
“Here is a young fellow you had better 
take charge of; he is looking for a church.” 

“I would be glad to have him come in;” 
and in an instant she stood at the open 
door. “Won’t you come in, my young 
friend?” 

Her invitation was cordial, and I knew 
as soon as I heard her name she was the 
lady I had just heard of, so I felt no hesi- 
tation in going in, though I knew my face 
was flaming red, for I felt exceedingly em- 
barrassed by this queer method of intro- 
duction from a stranger, who went on, 
highly amused at what he had done. Mrs. 
Johnson told me afterward that he was a 
very intelligent, pleasant man, but not at 
all religious; and that it was a mere freak 
on his part, his introducing me in that way. 
It may have been a freak on his part, but 
it was providence on God’s part, for it has 
given me a friend I know I shall value. 
Then the man himself — though he showed 
it in a funny sort of way — I think, felt a 
degree of sympathy for the “lone, lorn” 


38 


geraed: a story. 


stranger of such youthful appearance. Mrs. 
Johnson made me feel at home with her. 
I told her all about myself, all about you, 
and every thing else, I believe. She gave 
a great many kind warnings against the 
evil courses she thought I might be tempted 
to fall into. Especially she warned me 
against the temptations of drinking-saloons 
and bar-rooms. Her warning in that re- 
spect was entirely unnecessary as far as I 
am concerned, for no one could have a 
greater disgust for such things than I have. 
I knew it was her husband’s fate she was 
thinking of. But another thing she said in 
this connection that I fear applies to me; 
that is, that the natural desire in men to go 
where they see others gathered often leads 
them to join the crowd, even though the 
place and the general sentiment of the com- 
pany may at first be distasteful to them. I 
felt that way this morning. I wanted com- 
pany, and was tempted to stop with the 
merry crowd I saw around a saloon; but 
it did not seem the right way to spend the 
Sabbath, even if I did not join in the drink- 
ing. In the bar-room and around the sa- 
loons were the only places where I saw 


SUNDAY IN A BORDER TOWN. 39 

crowds collected. I asked her if there 
were many Christians here. She said she 
did not know; that in a new place like this 
strangers were continually coming in, and 
one had no means of learning who they 
were — her health had been too feeble to go 
about much. There might be many here 
who would encourage and be a comfort to 
each other if they were only brought to- 
gether; but how could this be done without 
a church to serve as a public place of 
meeting? If a church were built in their 
midst, she believed, like a magnet, it vfould 
draw out Christians all through the com- 
munity, bring together those who now 
know nothing of each other, and by num- 
bers strengthen and encourage individuals. 
On Sunday, at least, it would give men 
somewhere besides drinking-saloons to 
come together, “ where they might re- 
ceive the ‘ living water ’ that giveth eternal 
life, rather than the liquor that is poison 
to mind, body, and soul.” She spoke these 
last words with intense feeling, and tears 
came into her eyes. Then she added, in a 
lower tone, as if on the eve of telling me 
the trouble I knew of: “I know of men. 


40 


GERARD: A STORY. 


faithful members of the Church, led astray 
in this way, who might have resisted temp- 
tation had they been surrounded by the 
influence of Christian communion.” Per- 
haps, mother, it was this need in human 
nature that made St. Paul warn Christians 
not to forsake “the assembling of your- 
selves together.” She sat in silence a few 
moments, looking out of the window with 
the weariest, saddest face I ever saw, then 
with a sigh said: “Yes, if we could only 
have a church, of any denomination, it 
would draw Christians together in a body 
and serve as a counter influence to evil 
associations; but I cannot now see how 
this object can be attained. I have waited 
and hoped in vain — no, it will not be in 
vain; God will yet hear my prayers before 
it is too late.” Becoming conscious that 
her conversation, or manner rather, might 
be calculated to sadden when she had in- 
tended to cheer, she apologized and tried 
to be more cheerful. But I would rather 
she had talked of her troubles, if it was 
any relief to her. With no relatives here 
but a drunken, unkind husband, how sad 
her heart must be! But they say she spends 


SUNDAY IN A BOEDER TOWN. 


41 


her time trying to comfort others. When 
I left she pressed me to come to see her 
often; to come if I felt homesick or troub- 
led. 

I came back to my boarding-house to 
twelve o’clock dinner; have been reading and 
writing ever since, and — I am ashamed to 
say it — wishing Sunday over, that I may go 
to work and not have time to think so much 
about home; for I believe I am thoroughly 
homesick. [He did not tell her he could 
scarcely refrain from a regular cry; he was 
afraid it would sound babyish, though she 
v/ould not have regarded it so. What 
mother would?] Your letter w^as a great 
treat. I know you will write as often as 
you can. Tell sister to write; and little 
Mary might make out to send me a few’ 
lines. A single word from any one at home 
would be a welcome sight, and highly 
prized. I wish I could catch one little 
glimpse of you this evening, but you know 
the old saying about not looking back when 
you have put your hand to the plow. I 
must go on to the end of my furrow. God 
grant it may be straight and in the right 
direction! 


42 


GERARD: A STORY. 


Mr. McLeod slept late this morning; he 
was very tired, and has been reading ever 
since — after taking a walk; he is not much 
of a talker, you remember, and is fond of 
reading. I wish I was. 

Love to the girls. 

Your devoted son, 

Gerard. 



7 


G^apfeet? W. 


HOW SUNDAY BECAME LESS TIRESOME. 



ANY Sundays after this did Gerard 


spend in an unsatisfactory manner — 
longing to go “ to the house of God, with 
the voice of joy and praise, with a multi- 
tude that kept holy day ; ” missing sadly the 
Christian communion to which he had from 
infancy been accustomed. One or two Sab- 
bath mornings he spent profitably with 
Mrs. Johnson, and became attached to her; 
but she was taken sick, and was confined to 
her bed the greater portion of the winter. 
She lent him books; but it was living com- 
panionship Gerard w^anted. Closely con- 
fined during the week (he was book-keeper), 
he wanted to be out and about, moving, see- 
ing people, talking or listening. A seat in 
the bar-room at his boarding-house was not 
pleasant, nor people he met there congenial. 

Mr. McLeod, a quiet, middle-aged man, 
whose part of the business kept him on his 
feet, moving constantly, was glad enough 
to be still and rest when Sunday came. He 


(43) 


44 


GERARD: A STORY. 


was fond of reading, and did not mind being 
alone, though he always made Gerard wel- 
come to his room with the most hospitable 
endeavors to keep up a conversation. A 
few general remarks exhausted his powers 
in that line, and were supplemented by a 
kind smile that said a great many things. 
It said: “I am pleased with you; if it en- 
tertains you to talk, I will kindly listen, 
though on the whole a little bored; yet go. 
on, it does not matter.” He not only liked 
Gerard, but admired him heartily; and 
were he tested would prove a true friend, 
steadfast under all circumstances. He saw 
with pleasure that Gerard was not carried 
away with the follies of young men, and 
was satisfied, for he was not himself a 
member of the Church. He was kind, con- 
siderate, and courteous, but not at all ge- 
nial. What he had to say was to the point, 
decided and short in word, not in manner — 
that was usually quite pleasant, though he 
could be very stern with a wTong-doer. 

Gerard had made the acquaintance of 
some young men of his own age, and they 
were bright, pleasant companions; but they 
did not have his ideas of the sacredness of 


SUNDAY BECOMES LESS TIRESOME. 45 


the Sabbath. For instance, they could see 
no harm in a game of base-ball for exercise, 
if it was Sunday, “when a fellow had been 
cooped up all the week.” To be sure they 
would go to church, if there was a church 
to go to; but as there was none, they saw 
no use of moping about all day, just because 
it was Sunday. Gerard could not hold 
hinaself aloof and walk around by himself 
all day. He would occasionally watch the 
game, and sometimes, involuntarily dart- 
ing after the ball, be drawn into the game 
more than he intended. Again, he would 
join a crowd of excited miners collected in 
the bar-room of his boarding-house, and 
listen with interest to their talk of mines 
and great prospective wealth; their tramps 
through the mountains seeking for mines; 
of their hunts, etc. He made friends among 
them, and felt tempted to go himself in 
search of gold, but concluded he was 
“ doing well enough, and had better let well 
enough alone.” As spring came on, he 
began taking walks with them into the 
mountains. These were delightful; the 
views were so beautiful. Gerard at first 
confined his strolls to the afternoon, when 


46 


gerakd: a story. 


the miners were returning; the morning, as 
best he could, he gave to the worship of 
God. But these walks became popular; 
several young men of the town joined them; 
and finally they developed into all- day ex- 
cursions. A regular miner’s costume was 
provided. They started by day-break, and 
taking a day’s provisions, did not return 
until bed-time. Gerard enjoyed these i4fci- 
bles to the utmost, and ere many weeks it 
became his custom to rise before light on 
Sunday, with only a hurried prayer and 
scarcely a thought that it was the Sabbath- 
day, to don the rough costume prepared for 
the excursion, shoulder his gun, and start 
out, not to return until night; when tired 
he lost no time in going to sleep. The next 
morning early the weekly routine of work 
began. He wrote less often to his mother, 
and all his letters began with an apology. 
However, he gave her such graphic accounts 
pf his trips, of the beautiful scenery, and 
seemed so buoyant, she readily forgave his 
not writing often. But the mother’s heart 
took alarm. She remonstrated mildly. He 
responded: “There is no harm in ivalking 
on Sunday; I rarely have occasion to shoot. 


SUNDAY BECOMES LESS TIRESOME. 47 


I would not fail to go to church, mother, 
if there was a church to go to; there is none, 
and what is a fellow to do? He cannot sit 
around all day.” 

No, there is no harm in a walk on Sunday; 
and one cannot attend church where there 
is none; but, poor mother! her heart grew 
more and more restless and uneasy. A 
little walk was different from a regular ex- 
cursion like this — the whole Sabbath so 
spent. What could she advise him to do? 
He had made no religious acquaintances, 
yet seemed to have gone by the many temp- 
tations of evil associations unscathed. He 
had even endeavored, at her suggestion, to 
get young men to join him in prayer-meetr 
ings in his room; they had come occasionr 
ally; he had prayed with them, and they 
had listened, joined in, and sometimes beep 
impressed by his well-sung hymns. But 
they soon stopped. He could not stem the 
tide alone. He could not remain aloof frorn 
all companionship. How she wished ther-e 
was a church to bring the Christians 
together! for she w^as confident her boy 
would not neglect divine service if it were 
held. Yes, if there had been a church in 


48 


geeard: a story. 


the place, Gerard would not only have been 
faithful in attendance, but his good influ- 
ence — for all who knew him had respect for 
his manliness, sincerity, and uprightness — 
and his beautiful, heart-felt singing would 
have drawn others, especially his young 
companions, to the house of God. 

His singing was enjoyed very much by 
all who heard him. At times Mr. McLeod 
would put down his book and come into his 
room to listen. On Sunday he would sing 
nothing but hymns. On their Sunday ex- 
cursions when he sung them, as he did when 
called upon ; and once in awhile when 
reaching a high peak, a wide-stretching, 
beautiful view of valleys and mountains 
farther away burst suddenly upon their 
sight, he involuntarily sung an exultant 
hymn to the glory of God — it was listened 
to with pleasure, and in some way had a 
soothing effect on the consciences of the 
men. Very often, however, the wag of the 
party, with more wit than reverence, would 
follow with a travesty so comical that it was 
almost impossible to resist the laugh, espe- 
cially as he had the tact to avoid blasphemy. 
After awhile Gerard grew accustomed tq 


SUNDAY BECOMES LESS TIKESOME. 49 


this; it did not shock him as much as it did 
at first, and he made no effort to restrain 
his laughter. Finally he fell to “singing 
those songs which do not tend to the knowl- 
edge or the love of God,” because the ring 
of the music took possession of his ear, and 
he was impulsive. Ah, how artful old Satan 
is! He saw Gerard was too high game to 
be caught by grog-shops, by any sins low 
and vulgar. He was too temperate, too 
upright and pure, not to revolt at them; 
but now, see how he is tolling him on. 
Once he went too fast, and gave Gerard a 
shock; then he hid his head and went more 
cautiously. 

It was one evening when resting in the 
hut of an old miner, before returning to 
town, they called upon Gerard for a song, 
and he sung a beautiful, impressive hymn 
that seemed to subdue and awaken the bet- 
ter feelings of the party. It was too solemn 
for the wag, whose special mission seemed 
to be to prevent any thing of the kind, and 
he arose with the utmost gravity and passed 
the hat around to take up the collection. 
Though the joke w^as very, very hackneyed 
indeed, it served the purpose of raising 
4 


50 


GERARD: A STORY. 


a laugh, and dispersing earnest thought. 
Now two others, with no wit and less rev- 
erence for the God who made them, think- 
ing to increase the laugh, passed a word 
with each other, then taking the bread and 
a glass of whisky from the table, 'started 
around as if to administer the sacrament of 
the Lord’s Supper. This was too much 
— the laugh vanished from Gerard’s face; 
but before he could speak, the rough old 
miner said in a coaxing tone: “Don’t do 
that, boys; don’t do that. It looks sorter 
like flinging an insult in the face of the 
Almighty, this thing of making fun of 
church doings.” The party felt the re- 
jjroof far more than if Gerard had spoken. 
Gerard looked up in surprise, and caught 
the old man’s eye; they looked into each 
other’s hearts, and from that moment 
became friends. The old miner thought, 
“ That young fellow needs somebody to helj^ 
him to keep in the right way, but I ain’t 
the man to do it.” He got up in a careless, 
slouching manner, saying, “ It ’s my opinion 
anybody that ’s goin’ back to town to-night 
had better be a-rustling.” This truth struck 
the party; they sprung up and started. 


SUNDAY BECOMES LESS TIRESOME. 51 


Now, you see, the arch enemy adroitly 
used this speech from the old man, who 
made no professions of religion, to soothe 
Gerard’s conscience, and put a better face 
on things. But you must not forget God 
is at work as well as the evil one, for the 
old man’s effort to defend the honor of his 
God, and his humble desire to help a fellow- 
creature in the path of righteousness, drew 
his own heart one step nearer the Saviour, 
and raised up for the younger man a friend 
who “cared for his soul.” As the old man 
was not a Christian, Satan was off his guard 
with him; thought he could use him, and 
that would be the end of it. Not being all- 
wise, he often overreaches himself in this 
way. Poor Gerard! the devil is making a 
grand strike and a wily one for his noble 
heart and much-guarded soul. 

In the first place, the boy, in his desire to 
be doing and his hope of achieving a fortune, 
had thought of his future place of residence 
only from a business stand-point, thinking 
that all that was necessary; and lo, Satan 
led him to a prosperous town where, as in 
his thought in the move, God had no dwell- 
ing-place — no house vdiere his children 


52 


GERARD: A STORY. 


could come to seek their Heavenly Father, 
and meeting as brothers and sisters in the 
home of their Father, love, encourage, and 
help each other; no house to which Chris- 
tians could point, saying to sinners: “ Come, 
go with us up to the house of the Lord our 
God, and you shall find comfort to your 
souls.” He led him to a prosperous town 
wherein he, Satan, had many houses; where 
his children were busy, saying to poor home- 
less Christians, “ Come to the house of our 
father ” — they take care not to call him by 
name — “Come to the house of our father; 
it is bright and pleasant, and we are ready 
to receive you as friends. Come, ‘eat, 
drink, and be merry, for to-morrow ye die.’ ” 
The enemy of souls was glad when he got 
ahead of Gerard in the matter of a church, 
for he knew he stood no chance if he let 
him go where there was one; the boy was 
so well trained he would be sure to go in 
the beaten path that would as certainly lead 
him to the house of God as if his moth- 
er’s gentle hand still held his. But Satan 
was disappointed when he found his dens 
of sin had no power to allure the homesick 
Christian, even when his friend Mrs. John- 


SUNDAY BECOMES LESS TIRESOME. 53 

son was stricken down; that long-suffering 
Christian, by the power of prayer, will tri- 
umph over him yet. And so he led Gerard 
up into the mountain to^be tempted through 
the more refined portion of his nature — the 
love of the beautiful. His unseen enemy 
is rejoicing now. Why? Because Gerard, 
though yet unconscious of it, has turned 
his back on God. He has not gone far, it 
is true; but his face does not look toward 
God, and his feet are turned away. He 
has ceased to keep the Sabbath holy unto 
the Lord. He has forgotten, “ If thou turn 
away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing 
thy pleasure on my holy day; and call the 
Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, 
honorable; and shalt honor him, not doing 
thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleas- 
ure, nor speaking thine own words; then 
shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord.” 
(Isa. Iviii. 13, 14.) Seeking his oicn pleas- 
ure on the Sabbath-day, he had ceased to 
delight himself in the Lord. 

Bear with me, reader, while I call your 
attention to this passage from God’s Word. 
Are you one of those who quote the fourth 
commandment as commanding only a cessa- 


54 


gekaed: a stoky. 


tion from labor, forgetting the command 
is, “ Remember the Sabbath-day, to keep it 
holy,' for it “is the Sabbath of the Lord 
thy God?” Then read again this warn- 
ing he gives yon; cease from doing your 
02vn pleasure, from “ speaking thine own 
words,’’ on God’s holy Sabbath-day, that 
you may delight yourself in the Lord; 
for what Christian can stand who does 
not? 

Gerard had ceased to delight himself in 
the Lord, pursuing this not uncommon 
course — that is all; but his enemy rejoiced. 
There is no stand-still in Christian life. 
Gerard having turned his face away from 
beholding the glory of his God, from finding 
his delight in the law of the Lord, will drift 
farther away through the “counsel of the 
ungodly,” will stand in “ the way of sinners, 
and perhaps finally sit in the seat of the 
scornful;” or he will open his eyes, see the 
way he is going, turn back with a penitent 
heart, and henceforth be a more humble, 
w^atchful Christian. 

Yes, the arch enemy of souls is rejoic- 
ing over this upright, temperate, thoroughly 
moral young man, because he has ceased to 


SUNDAY BECOMES LESS TIRESOME. 55 


keep holy the Sabbath-day. But Gerard is 
not given over to his enemy — there are good 
influences at work to save him. His mother 
in tearful prayer pours out her anxiety into 
the loving heart of her Saviour. Mrs. 
Johnson on her sick-bed, suffering in mind 
and body, throws herself in faith upon the 
love and mercy of her God — and Satan is 
at a sore disadvantage when an invalid, de- 
prived of every resource, of every weapon 
save a humble trust in her God, brings 
that to bear as an irresistible force against 
the powers of evil. Bemember this, suffer- 
ing, helpless ones, and give your prayers 
to the Church of God for the salvation of 
souls. 

Mrs. Johnson’s determination to build 
a house to the Lord her God was only 
strengthened by her illness. She and 
Gerard’s mother opened a correspondence, 
and remembering the words of David, “I 
will not give sleep to mine eyes, or slumber 
to mine eyelids, until I find out a place for 
the Lord, a habitation for the mighty God 
of Jacob,” they determined to leave no stone 
unturned in their efforts to erect a church 
on the scene of their loved one’s temptation. 


56 


GERARD: A STORY. 


1 


The need of this church had come home 
to their hearts. 

Reader, have you loved ones or friends 
seeking a livelihood in -that far Western 
country? 



Ghapfeei? 

A MOUNTAIN TRAGEDY. 

“Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, thou 
God of my salvation.’^ Psalm li. 14. 

B y summer-time Gerard was so complete- 
ly fascinated by this active, outdoor, 
mountain life that when Mr. McLeod in- 
formed him that he had determined to 
close up his business, and spend the sum- 
mer in New York making arrangements to 
open in the fall business of a different 
kind and on a larger scale, he decided at 
once to spend the summer in the mount- 
ains— whither, as soon as he was released, 
he hastened to go, regardless of the charac- 
ter of the companions who went with him. 
Some of them were strangers whose ac- 
quaintance he had formed in the bar-room 
of his boarding-house. The old miner had 
given him a hint that they might not be 
what they seemed; but as the old man was 
quiet, and they were very animated, attract- 
ive talkers, who grew excited as they told, 
wonderful tales of adventures in the mount- 

(57) 


58 


geeakd: a story. 


ains, liis unobtrusive warning went unno- 
ticed. His mother’s anxiety grew tenfold 
greater. She tried to quiet her fears with 
the assurance that there was no harm in a 
tour in the mountains — certainly not; it is 
in the condition of the heart the danger 
lies; therefore are we warned, “Keep thy 
heart with all diligence, for out of it are 
the issues of life.” The good mother could 
not shut her eyes to the fact that in his 
heart her son had forsaken his first love, 
and had ceased to “ watch.” A dread of 
evil took possession of her heart, and 
would not let her rest, but kept her pray- 
ing without ceasing to God to save him 
from sin. 

The little girls, observing their mother’s 
anxiety, partook of it. Seeing her efforts 
to establish a church in the town where 
their brother lived, they too threw their 
hearts into the project. Annie wondered 
of all the evils she had imagined would be- 
fall her beloved brother, of this she had 
never thought. Wild beasts might destroy 
him, or robber bands take him captive; but 
she never once thought of that robber of 
souls who goeth about like a roaring lion 


A MOUNTAIN TRAGEDY. 


59 


seeking whom he may devour. Now, in- 
deed, she would help to rescue him from 
danger. She felt mortified when she 
thought of her self-applauding heroism in 
imaginary, unlikely dangers; and praying 
God to rescue her own soul, she, under- 
standing the jiowerful agency of this much- 
desired church, went to work among the 
girls of her own age, and of little Mary’s, 
aroused an interest in the work, and formed 
a society to raise money for it. Awakened 
to a knowledge of the great privilege they 
enjoyed in having a church in which to wor- 
ship God, and Christian friends to take an 
interest in them, she and her girlfriends be- 
came more faithful in their attendance at 
church, listened more earnestly to the min- 
ister, and felt thankful for Christian admo- 
nitions. A revival sprung up among them ; 
Annie and many others were converted; un- 
selfish eiforts for the salvation of others had 
been the means of saving their own souls, of 
bringing God’s blessings upon themselves. 

To a subscription-list, taken around by a 
young girl sent out by Mrs. Johnson just 
before he started, Gerard had signed his 
name for a large amount, but I fear with 


60 


GERARD : A STORY. 


less j)ersonal interest than he would have 
felt those first Sundays, when his soul 
panted after God as the hart panteth aft- 
er the water brooks. That was the first of 
June; now it is the last of August, and 
Gerard’s mother has not heard from him 
for many weeks. Let us look in the mount- 
ains for him. 

There is a house high up on the mount- 
ains. It stands alone; for many. miles it 
is the only house where man may find rest 
under the shelter of a roof. It may, by 
courtesy, be termed a tavern. It is a large 
one-story log-house; logs formed the roof, 
with a covering of earth thrown upon them, 
and the chimney was m^fde by cutting into 
the side of the mountain, against which it 
is built. There are two rooms; one is the 
family-room, used for cooking, sleeping, 
and every thing else. The other room is 
the public apartment. On one side of it 
there is laid a floor of planks that covers 
about half the room, and is used as a gen- 
eral bed on which the guests may lie, each 
man wrapped in his own blanket. The rest 
of the room has the bare earth for a floor. 
In the corner of the room to the left of 


A MOUNTAIN TEAGEDY. 


61 


tlie fire-place, indicated by a rude counter 
across the corner, with a few shelves back 
of it, is the bar, from whicj^ the most vil- 
lainous liquors are sold. And the seller is 
the roughest, the most pitiable specimen of 
youth that ever went with unkempt hair 
and ragged trousers suspended by one 
“gallows ” over a dirty colored shirt. Yes, 
here too, high up in the mountain, in the 
most comfortable corner of even this rude 
dwelling, sits the triumphant demon of in- 
temperance. Strong indeed must be the 
wings of the good angel, fleet and far must 
he fly, if he would outstrip this most active 
of demons, for whom no mountain is too 
high, no desert too wide, and no settle- 
ment of men too small, too rude or rough, 
to require his attention. Why should he 
be always first? Because — alas that it 
should be true! — he is often carried with his 
twin brother, love of gain, in the breast 
of the first man who goes. “ Mine host ” 
brought them here — that is his son behind 
the bar — and built this house expressly for 
them; putting it, with care, wdiere none 
would compete with them in alluring the 
passers-by, for this is the highest point 


geraed: a story. 


C2 

on the road over the mountain. Quite a 
number of men have gathered into this 
place to escan^ a hard rain. There is 
laughing, loua talking, hilarious greetings, 
a multitude of oaths, a moving to and from 
the bar, and the air is filled with the odor 
of drying blankets, held to the fire by new- 
comers. The wind, ever and anon, drives 
gusts of smoke, and sometimes rain, down 
the wide-open chimney; occasionally loos- 
ened earth from the mountain-side rolls 
down. The fire is dull and the room is 
cheerless; but it is a relief to find shelter 
from the rain, and a place to sleep under a 
roof, as imperfect even as this one, now 
leaking in several places, making little pools 
of water over there, and mud on the earth in 
front of the fire-place. Some of the guests 
are seated on the three-legged stools of the 
crudest make, that serve as the only fur- 
niture. One in the corner by the fire is 
dozing off the effects of liquor. Others, on 
a blanket spread upon the wet floor, are 
seated in a group playing cards with a very 
dirty pack. They are gambling, and are 
often in a high state of excitement, in- 
creased by liquor brought them from the 


A MOUNTAIN TRAGEDY. 


63 


bar. In this group is the man we seek. 
That fair-haired, blue-eyed man, who looks 
so boyish among those bronzed, hardened 
faces around him — that is Gerard. O 
how changed he is ! The clear, bright light 
has gone from his eyes, and in its place 
an uncertain, eager excitement is flashing 
from under an angry frown. He has lost; 
he is eager to gain. How did he reach 
this state? In disagreeable weather and 
at night cards were played, sometimes for 
money, sometimes “only for amusement,” 
according to the company; for Gerard had 
drifted about, with one party then another, 
as these, his most interesting companions, 
often left him for days without adieus, or 
invitations to join them; though they 
seemed never to lose sight of him, and al- 
ways rejoined him at unexpected moments. 
When apparently flush with money, they 
bet high. Gerard would not play at first; 
yet there was nothing to do but to watch 
the game. He became interested, of course ; 
he could not help that. The first time he 
played, one. hand was lacking to complete 
the game, and it was “only for amuse- 
ment;” so his companions for that day 


64 


GERARD: A STORY. 


urged, “they would not gamble any more 
than he would.” And perhaps they never 
did; but look at Gerard. He played that 
day. After that he always played “for 
amusement,” forgetting the kind warning 
of his Church, not to do “what we know 
is not for the glory of God”^“ taking 
such diversions as cannot be used in the 
name of the Lord Jesus.” “Only for 
amusement,” he took pitch into his hands 
with the full determination that he w^ould 
not be defiled. Only to take olf the raw chill 
of dampness he grew accustomed to taking 
that “ fire-water ” into his system — though 
he did not like it, and though it darted like 
fiery serpents through his fresh young 
blood and excitable brain. His present 
and most constant associates would not 
play without gambling; and at first he al- 
ways won. Now he is losing, for he plays 
fair. He is losing; his blood is at fever 
heat; angry passion is stirring in his breast, 
for he begins to suspect the other players 
are not dealing fairly by him. His quick 
eye, on the alert, catches a sly movement 
on the part of the man wdio is wdnning 
from him. 


A MOUNTAIN TEAGEDY. 


65 


“You are clieating!” shouted Gerard, 
loudly and angrily. 

The man accused springs to his feet with 
an oath, giving Gerard the lie; with loud- 
mouthed threats whipping out his ready 
pistol. 

Gerard, agile as a cat, quickly up, with- 
out a word, like a flash, seized a heavy stool 
just vacated near him, and hurled it at the 
head of his assailant, who falls just in time 
for the ball from his pistol to graze the top 
of Gerard’s head and enter high up in the 
wall beyond. 

Now there is a hubbub, a bustle, a shuf- 
fling of feet, loud exclamations. 

For a moment Gerard felt a sense of re- 
lief that he had not been killed in a gam- 
bling brawl. 

“ He is dead! ” said one of the crowd gath- 
ered around the fallen man. 

Like lightning, with the words, the 
thought flashed through Gerard’s brain, “ I 
am a murderer!” and panic-stricken, more 
afraid of his dead than his living assailant, 
he fled from the house; sprung upon his 
horse, that he had learned from his compan- 
ions to have always ready — it stood under ^ 


G6 


geraed: a story. 


large tree near the house. Being an unu- 
sually fleet as well as a sure-footed cayuse, 
it had borne him almost out of sight down 
the winding road before his absence w^as 
noticed in the confusion. 

“Arrest him! ” cried the man dozing near 
the fire, aroused from his drowsy state by 
the pistol-shot which he, yet hardly able to 
take in the circumstances, thinks Gerard 
fired; and reveals himself a government 
official to assert the authority of the law, 
glad of an opportunity to show himself 
active in his duties. 

“He is gone!” responded several; and 
there was a rush to the door. 

The other two men who were playing 
with Gerard, with one glance at the 
“ agent,” rushed out — doubtless with great 
zeal for the majesty of the law — sprung 
upon their horses and dashed after the 
fugitive. 

A fugitive from justice! O Gerard, our 
bright little boy, our noble youth, would 
that other influences could have been 
thrown around you! 

When the crowd rushed to the door, an 
old man in miner’s dress, with a kind but 


A MOUNTAIN TRAGEDY. 


67 


rugged face, who had come in unnoticed a 
moment before the row, came forward, 
knelt down by the victim of Gerard’s an- 
ger, and looked intently into his face. 
Does he recognize him? Is this man any 
thing to him, that the old miner looks so 
eagerly and anxiously on his still face, 
closed eyes, and motionless form? The 
kind old face grows very sad. Now he 
rises up in eager haste. Will he too 
pursue the fugitive? 



Ghaplep fl. 

A WANDEBER FROM GOD AND MAN. 

“And Cain said unto the Lord, My punisliment in 
greater than I can bear. Behold, thou hast driven me 
out this day from the face of the earth.” Gen. iv. 13, 14. 

P OOR Gerard, as now he flies swiftly 
along the road, now picks his way in 
dangerous places, thinks of his mother, of 
all his friends at home. Can he never go 
among them again? would not they refuse 
to receive the murderer? He shuddered as 
he thought the word. Would he be allowed 
even to walk among men as a free man? 
Now he remembers he may have to suffer 
the penalty of the law; perhaps he is pur- 
sued. He pauses. He hears the swift ap- 
proach of unseen horses beyond the bend 
of the road. He turns quickly from the 
road — fortunately this was a point where 
he could easily do so, and the trees were 
thick enough, as he pressed his way among 
them, to screen him from the horsemen 
when they dashefj by. Now he realizes he 
(08) 


A WANDERER FROM GOD AND MAN. G9 


is a fugitive from the face of man, and a 
sense of despair comes over him — prison, 
death, disgrace, face him; his mother is 
brought in sorrow to her grave by the son 
who should have been the main stay of her 
old age. Was this the end of all the bright 
hopes with which he left his home and his 
reluctant mother? He had hoped to re- 
turn in pride and wealth; instead, she 
would hear of him as a fugitive from jus- 
tice, or a prisoner at the bar tried for tak- 
ing the life of his fellow-man. He gave 
his cayuse the rein and left the sure-footed 
beast to pick its own way. Night came 
on; still Gerard wandered aimlessly and 
slowly along. So absorbed was his mind 
with grief, anxiety, and useless plans and 
imaginings that, hid by the darkness, he 
knew not, cared not where he w'ent. He 
did not know^ that his horse through the 
pathless woods had turned its head back 
in the direction he had come. Now it turns 
to the left; he does not know it. On it 
goes, carefully and surely, as if it knew the 
way. It is descending a steep place — a 
plunge; but for his quickness of motion, 
the unguarded rider would have gone over 


70 


gerakd: a story. 


its head; and the horse stands still, as if it 
had reached its destination. “ Where am 
I?” thought Gerard. The moon peeped 
through the clouds at him. It saw a tired, 
haggard, desolate young man sitting upon 
his horse, in a strange place in those wild 
western mountains, far away from home, 
from loved ones — from whom crime, like an 
insurmountable barrier, seems to have sep- 
arated him forever. He looks around in a 
dazed, despairing way; sees that he is on 
a level, open place in front of a large rock, 
that a little above the height of his horse’s 
head projects suddenly and sharply far 
out from the side of the mountain. Glad 
of the shelter it offers, he dismounts, un- 
fastens his saddle, throws it under, and 
goes himself where the rain has not reached 
and it is dry. There he sat far back un- 
der that rock out of the rain, thinking, 
thinking — trying to think himself out of 
the terrible strait he finds himself in. He 
tried to pray, but the thought of how he 
stood in the sight of man prevented; if 
God did forgive him, would that save him 
from the penalty of the law, from dishon- 
or? If he could but escape without dis- 


A WANDERER FROM GOD AND MAN. 71 


grace or punishment from this unfortunate 
affair, he would certainly be more careful 
in the future. It was the dread of man, 
the sacrifice of his hopes in regard to this 
world, that was torturing his mind. It be- • 
gan to rain again, and the horse came un- 
der the rock for shelter. Gerard thought 
he was fortunate in finding this great rock 
to protect himself and horse. Then the 
hymn came into his mind. 

Rock of ages, cleft for me ; 

Let me hide myself in thee 

His impulse was to sing it, but it choked 
in his throat with a great sob. He felt the 
difference between himself now and when 
he sung that song at home. He threw him- 
self upon his face in the dust, and moaned 
and wept aloud. He felt a great sorrow 
for himself. 

“My punishment is greater than I can 
bear! ” he cried out in his agony. As he 
uttered the words, he remembered they 
were those of the first murderer; and with 
Cain he stood before an offended God and 
heard the words of his condemnation: 
“And now art thou cursed from the earth, 
which hath opened her mouth to receive 


72 


GERARD: A STORY. 


thy brother’s blood from thy hand. A fu- 
gitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the 
earth.” “ O my mother, my poor moth- 
er!” sobbed Gerard; and weeping like a 
child, he fell into a troubled slumber, bro- 
ken by starts and dreams of home. After 
awhile youth and fatigue claimed their 
own, and he sunk into a deep, sound sleep. 

He was not aware he had been asleep 
when he awoke to hear the birds singing 
merrily — ^to see the sun shining, glittering 
upon the rain-drops on the trees and on 
the grass; off of the last his good horse 
was peacefully trying to make a breakfast. 
He sprung up; health, natural buoyancy 
of temperament, the melody of the birds, 
and the beautiful outstretching scene, fresh 
and brilliant in the morning sunlight, made 
him forget for a moment the cloud upon 
his life. His face all alight with pleas- 
ure, he would have joined the birds in the 
singing of glad praises to God; but in an 
instant he remembered the day and night 
just past. A cloud arose out of his own 
heart, spread its dull folds over the bright 
scene — lo, it is bright no longer, and the 
singing of the birds is unheard. What evil 


A WANDEREE FROM GOD AND MAN. 73 


magician has waved his wand over the 
beautiful earth, made so beautiful by a 
holy and loving God? The magician is the 
evil one; the powerful wand he waves to 
darken the heart of man, and cloud the 
beautiful earth, is sin; and the overspread- 
ing cloud is sorrow, that will weep bitter 
tears upon us. If these tears be those 
of true repentance, the light of the Sun 
of righteousness will bring from them the 
glittering colors of the rainbow hope, to 
add to the fresh, new beauty of the earth; 
for out of the cleansed heart will go not 
the cloud that darkens but the joy that 
gladdens the earth — the grateful praise that 
ascends with the melody of the bird’s glad 
song. But Gerard — though he had wept, 
though he had bemoaned his fate, though 
he pitied the beloved mother who would 
suffer by his fault, though he felt the con- 
demnation of a just and an offended God — 
had not yet shed the tears of true repentance 
that never fail to bring relief from the 
merciful heart of the Saviour who came to 
save, and will cast out none who come to 
him in truth. When he remembers the 
day and night of agony just past, the buoy- 


74 


geeard: a story. 


ant light that lit up his face on waking 
leaves it, his arms droop, but his thought 
is, “What shall Ido? Where shall I <70.^” 
Was Gerard’s heart already hardened in 
sin? No, O no; it was only stunned by 
the suddenness and greatness of his ca- 
lamity. Ilis position in regard to the 
world is a dreadful, urgent problem his 
mind was trying to solve. Where should 
he go? He knew enough about the sur- 
rounding country to be able to avoid the 
habitations of man; but he could not go 
aimlessly wandering around — he must re- 
solve upon some plan. He sat down upon 
a rock to think. His hat is slouched over 
his face; his clothes are dirty and dusty 
• — so is his face, and so are the hands 
clasped over it. He tries to think, but in 
dull misery he watches his horse nibbling 
at the short, sparse grass, and envies him, 
for he is very hungry — he has not eaten 
since noon yesterday. His horse turns and 
goes toward a small stream of water trick- 
ling from the mountain-side. Gerard fol- 
lows him, for he is thirsty too. He drinks, 
washes his face and hands, wipes them on 
a soiled handkerchief, involuntarily brush- 


A V\^ANDEREK EEOM GOD AND MAN. 75 


OS some of the dust off his clothes, and feels 
refreshed. The horse finds more grass 
here, and cropfe it as peacefully and quietly 
as if there were no such thing as sin or sor- 
row in the world. Gerard is glad his horse 
has found food, for he not only loves the 
horse, but he remembers that he may have 
to depend on the strength of his horse for 
safety — he forgot : “A horse is a vain 
thing for safety. Behold the eye of the 
Lord is upon them that fear him, upon 
them that hope in his mercy; to deliver 
their soul from death.” But Gerard him- 
self is very hungry; he wishes he could eat 
grass too. The thought recalled the story 
of the prodigal son, who envied the “ husks 
that the swine did eat.” His heart turned 
toward his Heavenly Father, the kind God, 
who “knoweth our frame;” who “remem- 
bereth that we are dust,” and who “ pitieth 
like as a father pitieth his children.” But 
he felt God had forsaken him because of 
his sin. How strange it is that with all 
his appeals, a whole volume of loving words 
written to prove it, God has such difficulty 
in making the sinner understand He loves 
him, loves him, though he be the vilest 


76 


GEKARD : A STORY. 


sinner of them all; and watches with the 
tenderest care his every sorrow, his every 
want; the arms of His love are ever out- 
stretched to receive him. It is the sinner 
who forsakes God, not God him. He longed 
to kneel down and pray to God in proper 
form, and ask his deliverance; but some- 
thing held him back; he was ashamed to 
approach God in this deliberate way; it 
took the sting of mental pain to draw forth 
exclamations of prayer. For months he 
had had no privacy, save to draw within 
his mind, being constantly with those who 
cared not for God — who, if he cast his 
pearls before them, might turn again and 
rend him; and he had grown accustomed 
to only murmuring a few words of prayer 
after he lay down at night — words of prayer 
with which the coarse jests of some one 
near him often intermingled in his mind as 
they ascended to his Maker; words often 
so sleepily uttered they were hut ivords, and 
lacked the soul of thought to enable them 
to fly upward to God. He does not kneel, 
but once more realizes the depth of his 
trouble, and from his heart murmurs, “ O 
God, help me!” He meant only “help me 


A WANDERER FROM GOD AND MAN. 77 


out of this difficulty.” How well it is our 
God is long-suffering; but this prayer, out 
of a sinner’s heart, ascended to a merciful 
God. 

The day passed on, still Gerard lingered; 
he did not know where to go. He did not 
know where he was. He saw that he was 
hidden upon a flat but what appeared to 
be an unapproachable ledge of the mount- 
ain; how he came there he did not know. 
It had been dark some time when the sud- 
den plunge of his horse brought him to 
this place of security; that is all he knows. 
He is safe here, and had as well stay as to 
start and not know where he is going. 

“ But,” with a frown, “ I can’t stay here 
forever, and starve; this must end some 
way.” 

He sprung up in impatient despera- 
tion, and went toward his horse. As he 
did so, his horse looked up and over the 
ledge upon the brink of which he stood. 
Gerard’s eyes followed those of his horse, 
and he saw many feet beneath them the 
road, and two men riding quietly by, un- 
conscious of the man and horse over their 
heads. Gerard caught his horse and drew 


78 


geeard: a story. 


him farther back from the edge, for fear 
they should be seen. When the men had 
passed, he examined his position still more 
closely — he had not looked over the edge 
before — and found from this point the road 
could be seen for a mile in either direc- 
tion. Directly down to the road the cliff 
was perpendicular, rather projecting over 
the road; but on one side, screened from 
the road by projecting rocks, Gerard found 
a steep, irregular path winding down into 
a densely wooded hollow or gulch by the 
side of the road. It was not very well 
trodden, but unmistakably a path over 
which men had frequently passed. This, 
then, was not the unfrequented spot he 
thought it. Was he near the habitation of 
man after all? The thought gave him 
pleasure; then came the fear of discovery. 
He looked far and near; there was not the 
least sign of life anywhere. There was no 
path from the mountain above him; the 
cay use had come down a very steep place; 
he could see the recent tracks by the side 
of the rock under which he slept. He was 
examining the place of his horse’s descent 
when there suddenly appeared on the 


A WANDERER FROM GOD AND MAN. 79 

height above him two of his former com- 
panions. They made an exclamation when 
they saw him, and came down as his horse 
had done. 



Ghapfeep f 11. 


THE COMPANION OF OUTLAWS. 

“How say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your 
mountain? For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, they 
make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may 
privily shoot at the upright in lieart.” Psalm xi. 1, 2. 


HEN Gerard saw these men he felt sure 



iV. that their object was to arrest him, or 
themselves to punish him for killing their 
friend. On the contrary, they seemed to 
be cordially glad to see him; shook him by 
the hand; congratulated him upon the deed 
he had done — he had freed them from a 
confederate they were constantly afraid 
would prove traitor to them. Gerard, 
utterly confounded by this salutation and 
this view of the matter, knew not what to 
answer, save to murmur, in a dull sort of 
way, that he did not think his deed one fit 
for congratulation. They asked how he 
came there. He told them he did not know; 
that he had given his horse the rein. Then 
one said, “O yes!” and the other said, 
“Sure enough!” and they glanced at the 
cayuse, which was looking at them in a very 


( 80 ) 


THE COMPANION OF OUTLAWS. 81 


knowing way, and then at each other. 
Gerard noticed this, but never thought to 
draw a conclusion. He asked them how 
they happened to find him. 

‘‘Never mind that now. We will tell 
you about it after awhile. It is dinner-time 
— well on to supper, I should say.” 

“And I’m as hungry as a wolf,” added 
the other, loosening from his horse a large 
roll evidently hastily and quite clumsily 
put up, as though they had gathered up 
their dinner and brought it with them be- 
cause they had not had time to eat it. It 
was a substantial meal, and so inviting to 
a man as hungry as Gerard was that he 
readily, I might say eagerly, accepted their 
invitation to join them. And now as the 
three sat together in good fellowship, they 
talked to Gerard as if he was one with them, 
as if his deed had separated him from man- 
kind and bound him to themselves. They 
had always admired his powers and his 
“pluck,” as they called it; and now they 
seemed determined to secure him as a con- 
federate; so they revealed to him their own 
outlawed condition. As they talked on it 
slowly dawned on Gerard that these attract- 
6 


82 


GEEAED : A STOEY. 


ive companions of his were the noted high- 
way robbers for whose capture so great an 
effort was being made at that time. 

Then the old miner’s apparently un- 
founded suspicions, hinted to him ; the fact 
that he had bought the horse of them; this 
was then their rendezvous — how convenient 
for their purposes; and innumerable little 
items recurred to his mind, instantaneously, 
to open his eyes fully to the circumstances 
surrounding him. Though only half satis- 
fied, his appetite forsook him, and the food 
became revolting. These experienced men 
did not fail to see this, to see that he stood 
aghast with horror at their confessions. 
He turned deadly pale; then his face 
flushed with anger. 

“ Do you think I intend to be a thief, be- 
cause I have been unfortunate enough to 
do a deed I did not intend to do? ” 

“ Softly, young man, if you please; do n’t 
use words so brashly, or your health may 
suffer as much as your appetite appears to 
have done,” said one with a mocking smile, 
laying his hand on the arm of the other 
who with a scowl had placed his hand 
upon his pistol. 


THE COMPANION OF OUTLAWS. 83 


“ ‘ Come, let us reason together ’ — I be- 
lieve that is what your book says,” he adds, 
in the tone of an older friend who had 
learned to be forbearing with the foolish, 
impulsive anger of a younger one. “ Pray 
tell us the difference between you and our- 
selves in the sight of the law; it can but 
hang us, as it certainly will you, if it lays 
hands on you.” 

“I am not a thief,” said Gerard sullenly. 

“ Doubtless there is a nice distinction to 
be drawn between a thief and a murderer 
that many of our audience will fail to dis- 
cover when we hang together for their ed- 
ification.” 

Gerard’s conscience — it truly “makes 
cowards of us all ” — allowed him no answer 
to this sarcasm; and he was striving to see 
his way out of a dilemma that had now be- 
come more terrible. 

This leader — “Captain” he was called — 
of highwaymen was a man of education and 
culture, though the life he led in the mount- 
ains gave him a rough exterior; when he 
chose he could throw it off, and, mingling 
among gentlemen as one of them, conceal 
his identity when he, as a notorious captain 


84 


GERARD : A STORY. 


of robbers, was himself under discussion. 
Besides, he could not be utterly debased — so 
Gerard thought, for he had seen him do 
deeds of kindness and bestow generous 
charity. But above all, the man had about 
him a species of magnetism that older men 
than Gerard were won by, regarding him a 
man worthy of their association. Even 
now, when he thought there was no mistak- 
ing the real character of the man and the 
nature of his pursuits, Gerard found it dif- 
ficult to resist the fascination he had for 
him, and began to doubt his conclusions, 
so naturally drawn from circumstances, and 
from words somewhat ambiguous; for rob- 
bers or thieves are never known to call 
themselves by those names. The Captain 
saw his power over the young man, from 
whom he had not removed his penetrating 
eye. 

“Well, now, my young friend,” and he 
smiled kindly and sadly, “ pray tell me why 
you choose to insult your comrades in mis- 
fortune? Like yourself, we have been, by 
a reckless deed, driven from our fellow-men, 
among whom we dare not appear in proper 
person; we dare not remain among them 


THE COMPANION OF OUTLAWS. 


85 


long enough to gain a livelihood, for fear 
of detection. We are hunted like wild 
beasts, as you now are and will be until 
you are found. We did not follow you to 
arrest you, as the ‘agent’ thought who de- 
manded your arrest as soon as he saw the 
deed you had done. We deluded him; we 
threw him off your track, and sought you 
to protect and aid you. And here we found 
you in a starving condition. What would 
you have done if we had not come? You 
are now certainly in a safe retreat, but 
could you have staid here without food?” 

Gerard’s unappeased hunger acknowl- 
edged the argument. He bit his lip and 
remained silent; a sense of utter hopeless- 
ness was creeping over him. 

“ You see a man may be driven to a pre- 
carious mode of living; and if he can get 
that from the enemies who are pursuing 
him, it is but a warfare wherein all things 
are fair, by which we may save ourselves. 
Your only chance now is to cast your lot 
with ours. We will not ask you to do any 
thing your tender conscience shrinks from; 
but we must live, and so must you. I shall 
divide with you as long as you remain with 


86 


GERARD: A STORY. 


me; you shall be to me as a younger brother. 
No one can feel for you more than I, that 
this misfortune has overtaken you; and I 
would gladly see you go back to your friends 
if I thought you could dare do so with any 
hopes of safety. The die is cast, and you 
had as well meet your fate bravely as a 
man.” He paused. 

Gerard arose slowly, and seated himself 
on a stone apart from the others. He sat 
with his elbow on his knee, his head upon 
his hand, and tried to think. “A thief and a 
robber” were the only words his thoughts 
could form. The sun set and the moon 
arose slowly over the mountains, making a 
scene of fairy-like beauty, with soft white 
mists and dark shadows. And Gerard’s 
thoughts went home to his mother; tears 
came to his eyes, and he was glad his back 
was toward the other men, that they could 
not see his emotion; they might think him 
weeping like a baby, instead of braving fate 
like a man. His attention thus drawn to- 
ward them, he heard their conversation, 
carried on in low tones. He had sat so long 
absorbed in thought they had almost for- 
gotten his presence. He gathered that they 


THE COMPANION OF OUTLAWS. 


87 


were expecting to capture rich booty at 
that place the next morning, and that two 
others were to join them at dawn, though 
he heard but little they said. Then they 
spoke of the necessity of committing him 
in some manner. As he was there upon the 
ground, he would either have to join them 
or be disposed of in some way. The Cap- 
tain expressed himself kindly, and felt sure 
of him. The next day, he saw, would decide 
his fate. “What could he do?” “What 
other course was open to him ? ” The kind 
words of the Captain* spoken a little more 
distinctly than the rest of the conversation 
— Gerard had by a slight, unconscious 
movement betrayed that he was hearing 
what was said — inclined him to one who 
seemed so willing to befriend him. 

“ How could he help it ? Fate was forc- 
ing him into this course,” he thought, ech- 
oing the words spoken to him. “Fate? 
Surely God would not forc^ him into an 
evil course? Why had it all happened? ” 

Conscience told him why. He saw that 
he had been the arbiter of his own fate. 
He had forsaken God; he had stood in 
the way of sinners; and now he was listen- 


88 


GERARD: A STORY. 


ing to tlie counsel of the ungodly. Then 
Gerard, with head bowed lower, began to 
pray to God to deliver him from the evil he 
had brought upon himself. The Captai)i 
came up, laid his hand upon his shoulder, 
and spoke cheerily to him. He sat down 
by his side, spoke of the beauty of the niglit, 
quoted beautiful poems, then glided off into 
a strain of conversation that with doubts 
and false logic, and touching, sad senti- 
ments drawn from his own life, fascinated 
and so bewildered Gerard that he felt as if 
the lines between right and wrong, between 
the true and tlie false, were becoming min- 
gled in inextricable confusion. Yet Gerard 
became quieted as one who takes a narcotic. 
He felt himself in the hands of an irresisti- 
ble fate that was bearing him where it 
would; and with a dull, helpless apathy, 
when the Captain suggested they should go 
to sleep, he took an extra blanket they of- 
fered him and, lying down under the rock 
with them, soon fell asleep. When this was 
accomplished, tlie robbers, wdth a sense of 
relief, and “He is safe enough” from the 
Captain, were also soon sleeping soundly, for 
they had had but little rest the night before. 


THE COMPANION OF OUTLAWS. 89 


Now, through the stillness of the night, 
there comes to the ears of the sleeping boy 
a cry of anguish; it is his mother’s voice, 
“My boy, O my boy!” With a throbbing 
heart, Gerard sprung up in a sitting posture. 
He was at the edge of the rock, and could 
see all around him. Every thing was as 
still as death; and the rays of the full moon 
were falling softly upon the peaceful earth. 
Farther under the rock he could see the 
two men sleeping heavily. What could it 
mean? It was his mother’s voice. He 
must have been dreaming, though he could 
not recall the dream. He lay down, but 
did not sleep. He thought it all over 
again: “A companion of thieves and rob- 
bers; a murderer himself; but why should 
he be outlawed and become a robber? He 
did not mean to kill the man; Wished he 
had been a moment slower, that he might 
have been the one to die and be free from 
all this misery. Poor mother! perhaps she 
had heard evil tidings of him, and was then 
praying for him, and calling in the anguish 
of the voice he had heard. He had been 
with these men, olf and on, for weeks, for 
months; and he thought perhaps others 


90 


GERARD: A STORY. 


knew of their character, and regarded him 
as one of them; his friends, his mother, had 
heard it; he was disgraced, utterly dis- 
graced.” And as a dull sense of despair 
crept over him, he sunk to sleep again. 

And again the voice of his unhappy moth- 
er sounded in his ears, clearer than before: 
‘‘O Gerard, my boy, my boy! ” 

This time, fully aroused, he stood on his 
feet and looked around. The men were 
still sleeping. He went to the edge of the 
precipice, and looked up and down the road; 
there was nothing to be seen or heard. 
The night was still, unutterably still. The 
mountain-peaks far and near stood in sol- 
emn silence — motionless sentinels standing 
through ages past, through ages to come 
— never-wearying watchers on earth with 
heads uplifted toward heaven^ waiting. 
There was a mystery in the stillness, in the 
ghostly contrast of moonlight and shadow, 
in the strange call of his mother’s voice in 
this wild, still place. Could her spirit be 
hovering in the air near him ? Awe-struck, 
Gerard bent forward and whispered aloud, 
“ Mother;” And the mountains softly ech- 
oing the word from one to another, whis- 


THE COMPANION OF OUTLAWS. 


91 


pered, “ Mother.” He looked down upon the 
road, then back at the sleeping men. His 
active nature came once more into full play. 
With rapidity and clearness his mind took 
in his situation, as it had not done before. 
He resolutely determined he would risk 
himself in the hands of the law rather than 
voluntarily cast his lot among thieves. His 
mother had called him; he would go to her, 
and meet his fate bravely that way; but to 
live among thieves as one of them he would 
not. He did not intend to kill the man; 
and now remembering how near he himself 
had come to being killed, he thought per- 
haps, after all, he stood a good chance of 
acquittal. There was a flutter of hope in 
his heart, as no longer hesitating he deter- 
minately, but cautiously, threaded the nar- 
row, winding path leading down the mount- 
ain-side. The moon in the zenith shone 
brilliantly; there was hardly a shadow on 
the path to conceal him from any one above. 
He could not of course take his horse; he 
could scarcely tread the steep path himself; 
and under his most cautious footing, a stone 
loosened and rolling made a noise that in 
the intense stillness of the night sounded 


92 


geeaed: a stoey. 


very loud to Gerard. .One of the sleepers 
above stirred, but did not wake. Surely, 
God held their eyes sleeping, as he held 
the mouths of the lions shut that they 
might not hurt his servant Daniel. Yes, it 
was God who held their eyes that they 
might not waken; for at that moment, in 
the far-away home, was not Gerard’s moth- 
er on her knees, with arms uplifted to her 
God, praying in the anguish of her heart 
for her wandering boy, from whom she had 
heard nothing for a month, save, accident- 
ally, a vague rumor of his being in evil 
company? On this night a terrible, unac- 
countable dread took possession of her soul 
and would not let her sleep, but kept her 
on her knees in prayer. And what more 
precious in the sight of God than such a 
mother’s prayer? Now a strange peace and 
rest from God comes into her heart; she 
feels her prayer is answered, her boy is 
safe; and trusting, she lies down to sleep 
while he is creeping down the mountain- 
side. The moon, like a lamp held on high 
by the hand of God that the boy committed 
to his care might see his way in safety 
down the dangerous, unfamiliar pathway. 


THE COMPANION OF OUTLAWS. 93 

cast its rays far down into the dell below. 
But should his sleeping enemy awaken be- 
fore he reaches the shadow of the trees, 
there will be nothing to hide him from his 
quick vengeance! 



Ghapbep fill. 

A mother's prayer answered. 

“And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in prayer, 
believing, ye shall receive.” Matt. xxi. 22. 

R EADEE, were you still anxious about 
Gerard when you left him upon the 
mountain-side? I hope not. But if you 
were, why so? Did not I tell you of his 
mother’s trustful prayer? and have you 
never read the text that heads this chapter ? 
Yes, and you believe it. O how strange is 
an unbelieving belief! O that Christian 
mothers could always realize the power of a 
trusting prayer! What are the “ keys to the 
kingdom of heaven,” given the disciples of 
the Lord, if they be not the prayers of 
faith, that alone can open it to ourselves 
or to those we seek to save? If this key is 
in your hand, you have but to open and 
enter into this kingdom, into the presence 
of Divine Majesty, assured of his favor, 
knoiving “that we have the petitions that 
we desired of him.” 

And did not poor distracted Gerard offer 
up his own feeble petitions? and did you 
(94) 


A mother’s prayer answered. 


95 


tliink God would not pity the poor boy be- 
cause he had sinned? This is a story, and 
you did not know what turn I would give 
it? Why I see no way out of it, when I 
tell you of a prayer offered in faith and 
trust, except to have an answer follow it, 
unless I am ready to say God speaks 
not truly — which I could not do, for I know 
he is true on my own knowledge. He is 
truths and his tender mercies are over all. 
Indeed, if he were not true and merciful^ he 
could not be God. O merciful, tender, lov- 
ing Father, why should your children ever 
doubt you? 

Of course Gerard gained the road safely; 
and many miles away, he was walking as if 
possessed of seven-league boots, when the 
Captain — who really liked the young man, 
and was determined to secure him as a 
friend, knowing that otherwise he would be 
compelled to destroy him — and his com- 
panion were awakened by the arrival of the 
other two men expected to assist in the 
robbery planned. Intent on business, they 
did not miss Gerard at first, then the ob- 
ject they had in view kept them on the 
spot. They did not know that from the 


96 


geeard: a story. 


few words he had caught Gerard had sur- 
mised from whence the expected bounty 
was to come; for they had merely alluded 
to the fact that it was coming. But as it 
grew late in the day and it did not come, 
they began to fear that Gerard had not on- 
ly escaped out of the meshes of the net 
they thought held him safe, but had re- 
vealed their designs. Then their own safe- 
ty was to be thought of. 

Gerard had met a man going in the di- 
rection from which he had surmised the 
travelers were coming, and sent a warning 
of the danger that awaited them; though 
he did not reveal the hiding-place of the 
man who profe'ssed a desire to show him a 
kindness, and whose manner had been 
kind. He felt that he would be acting like 
a traitor if he did. But he had reason to 
regret that he had not done so some time 
afterward, when he heard of a bloody rob- 
bery committed at that too convenient 
place. 

Gerard’s plan was to seek an asylum 
with, and advice from, his shrewd friend 
the old miner. It was not until the dusk 
of the following evening that he reached 


A motheb’s peayer answered. 97 


the old man’s cabin, and found it dark and 
the owner gone; though the fire on the 
hearth showed he had not been long away, 
and would return. Foot-sore, and exhaust- 
ed with fatigue and hunger, with the free- 
dom of a friend in the mountains Gerard 
rolled over into one of the rough bunks, 
and was soon fast asleep. 

He did not wake when an hour later the 
rough, kind old face of his friend peered 
into his. With a grunt of satisfaction he 
murmured, “Poor boy!” He saw the too* 
visible traces of suffering upon his face. 

“ He looks hungry enough to eat all the 
flapjacks I can cook before he wakes up;” 
and he proceeded forthwith to prepare a 
good meal for his sleeping guest. And it 
must have been a sweet savor in the nos- 
trils of the hungry sleeper, for when the 
busy cook looked around Gerard was lying 
awake looking at him. 

“ Why, halloo! ready for supper? ” 

To this cheery greeting Gerard sighed 
heavily, as he rose wearily up. 

The old man then faced suddenly around 
on Gerard, and said; “That paaft was not 
dead,” 

7 


98 


GERARD: A STORY. 


Gerard stared at him. “That man was 
not dead?” 

“That man yon floored; he was only 
stunned; he — What ’s up? What ’s the 
matter with the boy? ” 

Gerard had sunk back almost fainting. 
The old man handed him some water and 
turned away in silence; put the supper he 
had prepared in his rough fashion on the 
rude table; drew up a stool and sat down, 
apparently not noticing Gerard, who was 
•making great efforts to conquer the emo- 
tion that in his exhausted state had com- 
pletely overcome him. 

“Come, draw up,” said the old man, in a 
matter-of-fact way, but with a very evident 
tone of sympathy in his voice. 

With a quivering lip and irrepressible 
tears of gratitude — how good God had been 
to save him from blood-guiltiness! — Gerard 
took his seat at the table opposite the old 
man, who did not look up at him; but he 
went on with his story, as if not interrupted. 

“I came in just before the fracas; when 
the other parties rushed to the door after 
you, I examined the man on the floor and 
found he was n’t no more dead than yen 


A mother’s prayer answered. 99 


were, and may be would live longer, if you 
went on at the rate you went out, with that 
crew after you; as if that rascal’s life was 
worth an honest man’s! I knew well 
enough them men as went after you had 
their own reasons for getting out of the 
way so quick. And I knew that that fel- 
low you knocked down ought to be dead if 
he was n’t. But I knowed you had been 
brung up so tender you ’d have no peace of 
mind any more if that rascal did n’t come 
back to life. I got some water and went to 
work at him. He was hard to bring round, 
but I fetched him, and kept at him until I 
saw he was all right. Then I felt like 
knocking him down again myself, the ras- 
cally thief!” 

Gerard laughed; he began to feel like 
himself again, and thanked his friend. 

The old man now looked him full in the 
face. “ What on earth made you skin out 
that way anyhow, like a bounced rabbit 
out of the bushes ? If you had had sense 
enough to stand your ground, you ’d have 
done well enough, instead of tearing off like 
mad, as if you thought somebody was goin’ 
to string you up to the next tree. Every- 


100 


GERARD: A STORY. 


body seed the man shoot at you; and it 
ain’t so easy no ways to hang a man in 
these parts, if he deserves it — th^it is, if he 
ain’t sheered to death.” 

He owed his young friend a grudge on 
that point, and felt in a better humor about 
it when Gerard explained it was not the fear 
of hanging but the horror of having tahen a 
life that started him ; that he did not think 
of the evil consequences to himself until just 
before he found he was pursued. He told 
the whole story to the old man, who list- 
ened attentively, with ejaculations of vari- 
ous kinds. The “ Humph! ” at the mention 
of his mother’s voice calling him, showed 
him deeply impressed. 

“Guardian angels, boy — your guardian 
angels, and your mother’s prayers, most 
like. You had better go to sleep again 
now, and go to town in the morning and 
tend to your business — Mr. McLeod ’s back 
and started in again; and go to church; 
they ’ve got one now — [he did not tell that 
he had contributed generously to its erec- 
tion] — and as likely a young parson as I 
ever see. Heard him myself once, and am 
going again. I am glad they have got a 


A mother's prayer answered. 101 


church for the likes of you; and it does 
an old sinner like me good to go once in 
awhile; it feels sorter home-like.” The 
old man wrapped himself in his blanket 
and lay down. Gerard lay down again 
too, but not before he had knelt reverent- 
ly, and in a heart-felt prayer given God 
thanks for his long-suffering mercies. Be- 
fore he went to sleep, by the light of God’s 
mercy so signally revealed to him, he re- 
viewed the past few months of his life. 
How changed he felt since that day he left 
his mother so confident of the bright fut- 
ure before him, and so sure that he would 
stand steadfast in his Christian profession ! 
He recalled those fiirst Sundays when he 
felt so lonely and at a loss without the 
Christian service to which he had been ac- 
customed from infancy; and now he scarce- 
ly knew that to-morrow would be Sunday. 
How indifferent he had gradually become 
to the privileges of the Sabbath-day ! Then 
recalling the words the old miner had just 
spoken — “ I am glad they ’ve got a church 
for the likes of you” — Gerard fell asleep 
with words of gratitude on his lips. 

Yes, that was the turning-point of his 


102 


geraed: a story. 


life; if there had been a church in the 
place — if he had attended worship instead 
of trying otherwise to entertain himself on 
the Sabbath-day — he believed he would 
have been true to the name of Christ. How 
well Mrs. Johnson seemed to divine where 
his danger lay! Her husband’s fate had 
opened her eyes. He had thought she 
need not fear for him — he was in no danger 
of becoming a drunkard; but had he not 
gone into courses as evil? and but for the 
goodness of God his happiness would have 
been wrecked for life. 

There is a turning-point in every life, it 
is said; and in Gerard’s life it had certain- 
ly been in this thriving little town, where 
he had sought to make a livelihood, and 
where God had no house to dwell in, no 
house wherein he might gather his chil- 
dren to hear of his love, and to show sinners 
the way of salvation. Alas! many a time 
when there is a church where Christians 
gather Sabbath after Sabbath, it is the 
turning-point toward evil in the life of a 
stranger, a youth taught to revere the name 
of God, when he is not made to feel at 
home in their midst — when he is allowed 


A mother’s prayer answered. ~ 103 


to seek fellowship and affection from those 
whose influence leads him away from God. 
Why should not a young man go into places 
of evil resort? Because by going into the 
midst of temptation he may be led astray 
more easily. For the same reason a young 
man should go to church, that being in the 
midst of the worship of God, hearing words 
of encouragement, he can be more easily 
led into the way of righteousness. 

This is about the substance of what the 
old miner thought, though he would not 
have put it in those words, when he awoke 
the next morning still rejoicing that there 
was a church for Gerard to go to, and deter- 
mined to take him there that very day. 

He aroused him at day-break, saying; 
“ It ’s time to be stirring if we would make 
it to meetin’ this mornin’; and as I make it 
out, you ’ll have to get to town in time to 
fix up, and put on your store-clothes.” 

These simple words brought to Gerard’s 
mind the striking difference between him- 
self now and on those pleasant Sabbath- 
days that seemed so far away in the past, 
when he went to Church at home and en- 
joyed worshiping God with those he loved. 


104 


gekard: a story. 


He certainly was a dirty, nnkempt-looking 
creature now; and what was worse, lie felt 
his soul was as unkempt and as soiled as his 
clothes. There certainly ought to be as 
much satisfaction in having, by the grace 
of God, a clean, white soul as a clean body 
and fresh clothes. Gerard had been ac- 
customed from boyhood, by keeping near 
the Saviour, to feeling Avithin him an un- 
polluted soul, a character free from taint — 
as his bright, frank, open face had shown 
to every stranger — winning the heart of the 
uncultured but honest old man by his side. 
Now a sense of shame came over him, 
he averted his face from his friend, and 
thought bathing and fresh clothes would 
not make him clean enough to enter the 
sanctuary of the holy God, in whose sight 
even the heavens are impure. He felt that 
he would be a hypocrite in his own eyes if 
he went among Christians as one of them. 
I am afraid, in this way, Satan would have 
made him shrink from going back to the 
house of God, if his friend had not carried 
him along with that take-for-granted-you- 
are-going manner that has taken many a 
man along — sometimes in the right way, 


A mother’s prayer answered. 105 


sometimes in the wrong. And the seem- 
ingly careless old man was only going be- 
cause he had made up his mind to get this 
boy back into the right way, for he had, of 
course, not failed to notice the difference 
between Gerard when he first saw him and 
as he now appeared, gloomy, haggard, worn 
with mental suffering and physical depri- 
vation. He felt totally unfit to instruct 
any one in the way he should go, so he 
made up his mind, in a crude sort of way, 
that if he got the boy to church he would 
there find what he needed. 

“It’s church, it’s church,” he said to 
himself, “ that ’ll do the thing for him. I ’ll 
carry him right along back to church ; then 
he’ll be all right, as I make it out.” 

Wise old man! to take the sinner back 
to God who alone can regenerate the soul 
of man. He did not censure or lecture 
Gerard — he did not feel good enough for 
that; and the chances are it is well he did 
not; for, owing to the depravity of human 
nature, perhaps, men — and women too, for 
the matter of that — are not especially fond 
of, indeed are inclined to feel a little re- 
bellious under, cold-blooded criticisms and 


106 


gerakd: a story. 


moral lectures delivered dry so. It is bet- 
ter to love and to lead them; that is God’s 
way. So this simple-hearted, rough old 
man is wiser than he knows. He has a ten- 
der spot in his heart for this brave, bright 
boy gone astray; in an unpretending way 
he reverences purity, truth, goodness — 
God, the Bible, and the Church that seems 
to him the embodiment of it all. This idea 
has been more deeply impressed on his 
mind by the beneficial effects already seen 
from the one lately erected; then naturally 
he would take the erring boy to church, 
there to find ‘‘what an old sinner like me,” 
as he said to himself, “can’t larn him.” 

He goes himself, that the boy may go 
with him. And as they go along, he com- 
mends the young man for the “pluck and 
honesty that made him determine to face 
the condemnation of the law rather than 
live among thieves when he had found them 
out; and he was a lucky fellow that his man 
didn’t die; so now there was nothing for 
the law nor nobody else to get on to him 
about, as he could see.” Kind, artful old 
soul, he was determined Gerard should not 
go into town with that hang-head, guilty 


A mother’s PRAYER- answered. 107 


look, for “them self-righteous sinners to he 
a hingin’ at him, as they always did when 
Christian folks didn’t do as they oughter. 
He was a long way better than any of them 
now, if he was n’t all right yet.” So he put 
the best light on what he had done, and 
succeeded in relieving Gerard’s mind of the 
shamefacedness of being in a scrape — of 
being degraded in the eyes of men. Self- 
respect restored, he became more buoyant; 
he did not mind meeting people now. 

Then the old man added, “ It must have 
been your mother’s prayers as sent them 
guardin’ angels.” That was a word “fitly 
spoken.” He was setting the boy’s mind 
in the right track without seeming to do it. 
“A mother is a great thing, I can tell you, 
boy; I had one of my own onct — in course 
I did — and she was as prayerful a woman 
as I ever see.” Then he stopped, puzzled 
to know why her prayers for him had nev- 
er been answered. “ The Lord is not slack 
concerning his promise, as some men count 
slackness; but is long-suffering to us-ward, 
not willing that any should perish, but 
that all should come to repentance.” (2 
Peter iii. 9.) 


S^apfeet? IM. 


THE HEW CHUBCH. 


“He that overcoraeth, the same shall be clothed in 
white raiment; and I Avill not blot out his name out 
of the book of life, but I will confess his name before 
my Father, and before his angels.” Kev. iii. 5. 


HEN they reached the boarding-house 



the old miner waited in the bar-room, 
while Gerard went to his room to make 
ready for church. He waited with the 
feeling that he had been set to watch over 
the boy until he got him to church, then 
it would be all right, as he expressed it 
— why, or how, he made no effort to divine. 
While he waited, however, he took care to 
rehearse Gerard’s story to quite a bevy of 
-listeners, in such a manner that before he 
finished the youth came to be looked upon, 
in some measure, as a hero. 

They are in the church now. A nice 
little clean church it is, only three Sundays 
old. It is a plain frame church with un- 
painted pews, but cozy and comfortable. 
Quite a respectable congregation is gath- 
ered. Mrs. Johnson is there, near the front. 


( 108 ) 


THE NEW CHURCH. 


109 


looking feeble and patient but hopeful, for, 
by her side is her beloved husband, though 
evident traces of recent drinking are visi- 
ble on his face. Half-way back, Mr. Mc- 
Leod is seated, in true Scotch-Presbyterian 
style, looking straight before him, erect, 
dignified, and reverential. Far back, near 
the door, is Gerard, wondering if there 
could be that many Christians in town, and 
feeling like a stranger in the house of his 
Father. Now, low and tremulous, but with 
pathetic tenderness, in a weak female voice, 
comes the hymn: 

“Nearer, my God, to thee, 

Nearer to thee!” 

Several voices take it up and support the 
tune, but catch the low pathos. Gerard’s 
heart is stirred with a quick, deep emotion. 
He cannot sing; but the notes of the long 
imprisoned music that sunk so deep into 
his heart years ago now come floating up 
— like the voice of his soul plaintively plead- 
ing for its God — out of the depths of his 
being; bring in their train the fondest 
memories of home, of mother, of God. 

Strange! is it not? Yet we, all of us, 
know it is true that a strain of music, the 


110 


geeaed: a stoey. 


scent of a flower, even the breath of a pass- 
ing summer breeze, as by a touch of magic, 
will at times recall some scene in the far- 
away past. Why that particular scene, we 
know not; but, long forgotten, it comes back 
from somewhere out of the mysterious 
store-house wherein the immortal soul is 
laying up its treasures for eternity. How 
careful we should be that the treasure is 
fit for heaven! 

Thus it is with Gerard. A little boy 
again, he sits by his mother’s side in 
church. He sees the people behind him, 
the good little woman in front, the dog at 
his feet; he hears his mother’s low, sweet 
voice joining in with the singing; he nestles 
close to her — his hand in hers, so soft and 
w^arm. Then suddenly he remembers the 
anguish in her voice when it called him 
upon the mountain. They were singing 
the verse: 

“ Though, like the wanderer, 

The sun gone down, 

Darkness be over me, 

My rest a stone ; 

Yet in my dreams I’d be 
Nearer, my God, to thee. 

Nearer to thee.” 


THE NEW CHURCH. 


Ill 


How far away from God he had been that 
night upon the mountain. Though he had 
prayed, it had only been for deliverance 
from the difficulties around him, not be- 
cause he missed the communion with God 
that had been his joy for so many years. 
It was this world he had thought of, and 
his good name in the eyes of those who 
loved him on earth. He did not think how 
he had grieved the Holy Spirit by not keep- 
ing his heart “unspotted from th6 world.” 
God had in tender pity, removed those ob- 
jects of terror that had filled him with 
dread. Now his soul felt the barrier, the 
cloud, between it and its God. It thirsted 
for the living fountain whence it had so oft- 
en drawn the pure water of life, hungered 
for the heavenly manna upon which it had 
fed. It pined for the ever-present love of 
its Saviour, even as his heart longed to. be 
by the side of the mother who loved him, 
to feel her gentle touch, to hear her voice, 
to see those eyes so full of tender, all- 
enduring love for him : 

“Nearer, mj God, to thee!” 

Deeper and more intense became the 
sense of the goodness and love of God; and 


112 


GERARD : A STORY. 


how far off he was from Him! He could 
restrain his emotion no longer, but, leaning 
his head upon the pew in front of him, wept 
unreservedly; mind, heart, and soul plead- 
ing for the presence of the God he had wan- 
dered away from, and Avhose loss he now felt 
so keenly. He feared nothing now; he only 
wanted once more to feel there was no shad- 
ow of evil between him and the Saviour who 
loved him ; he was regardless of the service, 
forgetful of every thing save his desire to 
be restored to full fellowship with Christ. 
His friend the old miner, sitting by him, 
watched him with quiet satisfaction: “I 
knowed it; I knowed it was church he 
needed; he’ll be all right by and by.” 

The preacher, who had gotten well into 
his sermon, now called out in a louder tone: 
“Why do not you come to the Saviour? 
you have sins to be forgiven as well as the 
vilest sinners.” 

The old miner, aroused from his reverie, 
looked up to find the preacher’s finger, ac- 
cidentally as far as his intention was con- 
cerned, but providentially, pointing direct- 
ly at him. He felt startled: “I wonder if 
he means me? ” 


THE NEW CHURCH. 


113 


‘‘ Yes, I mean you^^ continued the preach- 
er, really preaching at Mr. McLeod. “ Why 
do not you come to the Saviour? He died 
for you. He pleads with you this day. O 
why will you refuse him? Why will you 
reject his love? Have you then, indeed, 
no sins to repent of ? ” 

“ Lots of ’em, lots of ’em,” thought the 
contrite old man; “more nor that boy thar; 
and I ’ve been thinkin’ of settin’ him right. 
I am an old hypocrit, that ’s what I am.” 

“Though your sins be as scarlet, they 
shall be as white as snow — — ” 

“White as snow,” murmured the old 
man; “that cleans ’em away mighty clean 
— not a spect left; if it’s clean snow, he 
means, and I reckon it is. Humph! that 
would make an old sinner like me innocent 
as a newborn babe. How would it feel, I 
wonder? mighty happy I reckon. White 
as snow? couldn’t be no whiter nor that.” 

“ If you would receive the mercy of God, 

you must ask for it ” 

“ That ’s fair, and little enough.” 

“And you have but to ask, and ye shall 
receive ” 

“Little enough for a man to do. Little 
8 


114 


geeard: a stoey. 


enough, and pretty certain about gettin’ it, 
too; if that’s in the Book, for it ain’t like 
God A’mighty to say he ’ll do a thing and 
go back on his word; I wouldn’t do that 
myself. He ’ll do what he says, an’ no mis- 
take. I’ll bet on that. He’ll be fair and 
squar.” 

“Then, come as a son to his father; 
ash^ ask for the bread of life, that you may 
live ” 

“Bless me if I don’t do it! I’ll ask — 
that’s my part — and he’ll do his part; no 
fear about that. He ’s a squar one to deal 
with.” 

“ You live in a mining region, my friends. 
If a gold mine of priceless value were of- 
fered you free, given you for the asking, 
would you delay to go and take possession 
of it ? ” 

“ You bet we would n’t, not a man alive 
of us;” and he emphasized his thoughts 
with a quick little movement in his seat. 

“Then, why should you delay when the 
kingdom of heaven is offered you? Is it 
not of more value than gold, than the most 
precious jewels? ” 

“That’s the fact!” and the old man 


THE NEW CHUECH. 


115 


straightened himself up as if ready for ac- 
tion. 

“ Then seek for it to-day; come to Jesus, 
that you may find it; come and let us pray 
with you. Sing friends, sing, “Come to 
Jesus.” 

They sung with fervor. 

Again the preacher called, through the 
refrain, for sinners to come forward; for 
the backslidden to come and renew their 
fellowship with Christ. 

Gerard arose and went forward. 

“I ’ll go, too,” thought his old friend, now 
deeply moved; “yes, I ’ll do it; I ’ll go with 
the boy;” and he followed him. 

Gerard sunk upon his knees at the altar. 
The old man paused, looked embarrassed; 
it did not come as natural to him as to 
Gerard. 

The preacher took him by the hand: “ Do 
you want to be free from your sins, my 
friend? 

“Yes, parson; that’s about the size of it,” 
said he. 

“Then kneel, and ask God to forgive 
you.” 

“I’ll try,” thought the old man, and 


116 


GERARD: A STORY. 


kneeled awkwardly down by the side of 
Gerard. 

Whispering, “Pray with me,” the ear- 
nest man of God knelt by the humble old 
man who, like a little child, was seeking to 
enter the kingdom of God, and poured forth 
a heart-felt prayer to the God of mercy. 
The old man became more and more deeply 
contrite, as he followed the prayer with all 
his heart, repeating the words in a low tone. 
He realized fully that he was asking God 
to do for him something that he could do, 
and had promised to do. He asked, noth- 
ing doubting, and when the prayer was 
ended took for granted God had done what 
he said he would — his simple-hearted faith 
and child-like trust receiving their rew’^ard 
of joy. He never doubted afterward God 
had received him that day, and went a long 
way to join a Baptist church, because that 
was his mother’s Church; and he believed 
it was her prayers that brought him right 
at last; besides, he “liked this thing of 
being washed all over'' He meant to quote, 
“Our bodies washed with pure water.” 
When he arose from prayer, he turned 
toward Gerard, who quiet, tearful, and smil- 


THE NEW CHUKCH. 


117 


ing, stood by bis side. He gave bim a 
bearty shake of tbe band. 

“ I knowed it was chnrcb you needed. It 
was chnrcb I needed, too; but I never 
knowed that, the old hypocrit that I was.” 

God knew better. He knew tbe old man 
forgot himself in his desire to save the boy 
“away from home” that he had determined 
to befriend. So God blessed him with the 
gift of his own salvation. Trying to bring 
others to Christ is a pretty sure way to 
bring and to keep ourselves there. 

A regular Methodist hand-shaking took 
place. Mrs. Johnson, rejoiced to have 
Gerard back again, introduced him to the 
pastor, as the boy she had told him of, who 
greeted him with the warmth and cordiality 
of an old friend. She introduced him to 
many others, who were kind in word and 
manner; and Gerard thought all would be 
different now from those first churchless 
Sundays he had spent without Christian en- 
couragement — regretfully wishing he could 
have been spared the trials of the last three 
months that came so near proving fatal to 
him. As they came out, Gerard found Mr. 
McLeod waiting at the door for him, and 


118 


GERARD: A STORY. 


received from him a cordial grasp of the 
hand which, from this quiet, earnest man, 
Gerard knew meant a great deal. When 
his new friends left him with many profes- 
sions of interest that they did not forget, 
Mr. McLeod walked by his side in silence. 
He had some messages to deliver, from 
Gerard’s mother, sisters, and friends, whom 
he had seen a week or two before, that he 
told by degrees, not dwelling too much 
upon his mother’s anxiety. Then he spoke 
a few words on his own account, that, though 
said with no apparent emotion, showed how 
deep was his interest, and how self-reproach- 
ful he felt for the seeming indifference of 
the past. 

Gerard found letters waiting for him; 
one from Annie beginning in a high state 
of indignation that he did not write and re- 
lieve her mother’s painful anxiety, and wind- 
ing up with a rush of love that showed how' 
her own heart was aching; a line from lit- 
tle Mary 

“ Please, brother, write to mamma or come 
home one; she cries about you, and calls you 
lier boy, every night, when she thinks we are 
asleep. Your little sister, Mary.” 


THE NEW CHURCH. 


119 


She did not show this almost illegible 
little letter to any one, but sealed it up her- 
self with a great deal of dignity, feeling 
that she had done all that was necessary to 
bring her brother or a letter one ; and when 
she saw it addressed and mailed to him, she 
sat down with patient certainty of its tak- 
ing effect. There were several loving, pa- 
tient, but anxious letters from his mother, 
that Gerard would hardly have been human 
if he had not shed tears over, and hasten 
to send by the next mail a long, loving con- 
fession of all he had passed through, and 
in explanation that he had scarcely been 
near" a post-office for weeks. 

What joy, what gratitude this letter 
brought to his mother and sisters, any 
mother or sister may well imagine. God 
bless our mothers! How many trials they 
pass through for us! and how all-enduring 
is their love! Yet our Lord says a mother 
can more easily forget the child of her love 
than he can forget his people. “Yet will 
I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven 
thee upon the palms of my hands.” 

A few years have passed. Gerard has a 


120 


GERARD: A STORY. 


home of his own; and the “demure little 
girl” is his wife, and her placid, sweet tem- 
perament is a great safeguard to him. 
They are very happy, and have a great 
many friends, but the one friend most wel- 
come to their home is the old miner, who, 
though still devoted to Gerard, never fails 
to feel awed and shamefaced in the pres- 
ence of his wife, though, strange to say, he 
can talk freely to Gerard’s mother, who is 
very grateful to him, and understands how 
to draw out his crudely expressed wisdom 
and keen insight into human nature. 

Gerard’s mother and little Mary make 
their home part of the time at Gerard’s, 
and paft of the time at Mr. McLeod’s; for 
Mr. McLeod married Annie, though tw^enty 
years younger than himself, and they are 
living next door to Gerard. When this 
event took place no one would hear to any 
thing but the mother coming West too, and 
living as she does. Neither Annie nor 
Gerard will agree to her making her home 
entirely in the house of the other, so she 
has a room with each one; and as there is 
no fence between the yards, it is all like 
one place any way. 


THE NEW CHURCH. 


121 


What wonder that the psalmist prayed, 
“Search me, O God, and know my heart; 
try me, and know my thoughts; and see if 
there be any wicked way in me, and lead 
me in the way everlasting? ” Gerard some- 
times says now that he thinks, after all, it 
was the goodness of God that tried him, 
and showed him the wicked way that was in 
him — showed him where his weak points lay, 
that he might be more guarded. And he 
often speaks gratefully of the earnest efforts 
of Annie to rescue him from danger, by 
having a church built in the town where he 
lived; for, they say, that more to the vehe- 
ment earnestness with which she threw her- 
self into this work than to any other single 
agency may be attributed the building cf 
that church. And the noble, earnest girl 
— now a happy, true Christian and devoted 
wife — says, “How good God is!” when she 
tells how her husband’s heart had been 
touched and filled with the resolve to delay 
no longer in seeking salvation, and, already 
fixed in the habits of morality, became a 
steadfast Christian, through the influence 
of the sermon that converted the old miner; 
and when Mrs. Johnson tells her how her 


122 


GERARD: A STORY. 


husband, wavering back and forth in his 
struggle with the terrible giant drunken- 
ness, had finally become a consistent Chris- 
tian by the grace of God, through the agency 
of the preaching of the gospel in the church 
she aided so largely in building; and when 
Gerard, whose special mission seems to be 
to look after the stranger youths who come 
to town, and take them to church, tells her 
how difficult it would be — almost impossi- 
ble— to watch over them, if there were 
no regular church-service to invite them 
to, no appointed place where they could 
meet and make the acquaintance of Chris- 
tian friends, where they could hear the 
praises of God sung and his gospel 
preached; and when her quiet husband, one 
day when the church-bell was ringing, said 
to her with a smile, “Listen, Annie, how 
loudly you are calling sinners to repent- 
ance,” she looked up at him in surprise. 
Then he put his arm around her, and said: 
“ I never hear that bell that I do not think 
how much my noble little wife has done 
for the salvation of souls; for through the 
preaching of the gospel in that church 
already have many souls been brought to 


THE NEW CHUKCH. 


123 


Christ, many saved from temptations to 
evil; but in years to come, who but God 
can tell how vast may be the number of 
souls who, responding to that call as it 
peals forth Sabbath after Sabbath, may be 
brought to know, as their salvation, the 
Saviour of mankind?” 




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